


We Come Outside, They Run and Hide (In The Morning Sun, Baby, We Were Born To Run)

by personalized_radio



Series: Love In The Middle Of A Firefight [5]
Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, And Travie names Pete so cute, Andy is the literal best, Better Living Industries, Child Experimentation, Family Death, Found Families, Guest Appearances By: Paramore, Guest Appearances By: The Cab, Guest Appearances By: Twenty One Pilots, Guest Appearances by: My Chemical Romance (The Killjoys), M/M, Multi, Music Is So Important, Orphans, Rebellion, This comes with all the umbrella warnings for the Youngblood 'verse - Be Warned, also mikeyway!, and sandman, but then gabe kind of happens, gotta love mikey!, i don't even know how to tag this?, i mean if you're reading this than you've probably read the other ones, idk patrick gets to be badass!, kind of stalking? but not really? Kind of., making your own family, orphans being saved, this one is just pete, trying to fit in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 114,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/personalized_radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone, in the dark, he’d drifted for what felt to him to be years before he’d found the voice. The voice had belonged to the black, and it had been scared. Scared and angry and desperate to live.<br/><em>I don’t want to die,</em> It had screamed when it had noticed him, filled the blackness between, and those were the first words he would remember for the rest of his life.<br/><em>I don’t want to die, either,</em> he wouldn’t remember responding, just as desperate to survive. <em>I want to live.</em><br/>And the creature had reached for him with hands and claws made of darkness, and Subject Zero-Zero-One had reached back, willing to fall into those grasping, wild with fear, limbs if it meant he didn’t have to be in the blackness alone anymore.<br/><em>I want to live,</em> they’d thought at the same time, together, and it had been the first time they’d thought as one, but it wouldn’t be the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Come Outside, They Run and Hide

**Author's Note:**

> Look guys look! I did it! I updated within six months! How exciting, amirite!?
> 
>  
> 
> ignore me as i cry forever at the fact that they forced me to post this in two chapters
> 
> anyway, this is pete's (and sandman's) story (so maybe it is fitting that there are two chapters, even if the two povs are intertwined). I'm so completely clueless on what to say? I just hope you guys like this. sorry for the long wait and the lack of control over my word count. i swear, this wasn't supposed to be so fucking long, but it ran away from me. apologies ;u;

Pete’s first memory was Sandman’s voice, back when he was still only Subject Zero-Zero-One.  
When he’d first been pushed into that dark place by Doctor Addy and the liquid in the shot, there had been other kids with him. Five others who had all cried like him. He’d grown up with them, up until that point, but he wouldn’t remember them after the blackness made them disappear, one by one, until he was the only one left.  
Alone, in the dark, he’d drifted for what felt to him to be years before he’d found the voice. The voice had belonged to the black, and it had been _scared_. Scared and angry and _desperate_ to live.  
 _I don’t want to die,_ It had screamed when it had noticed him, filled the blackness between, and those were the first words he would remember for the rest of his life.  
 _I don’t want to die, either,_ he wouldn’t remember responding, just as desperate to survive. _I want to live_.  
And the creature had reached for him with hands and claws made of darkness, and Subject Zero-Zero-One had reached back, willing to fall into those grasping, wild with fear, limbs if it meant he didn’t have to be in the blackness alone anymore.  
 _I want to live_ , they’d thought at the same time, together, and it had been the first time they’d thought as one, but it wouldn’t be the last.  
 _Who are you?_ He had asked, his small, small hands disappearing into the darkness - a completely separate blackness than what had taken the others he could barely remember. The darkness began to seep over him, flood over his skin, up his arms, over his shoulders, down his chest, legs, feet.  
 _Call me…_ He felt the darkness invade his mind, make a home in it, find his deepest, darkest fears and cloak itself in them, _Call me Sandman._  
 _Sandman,_ he had thought, tasting the nightmare-turned-voice on his tongue, _I don’t want to die._  
 _We won’t._ Sandman had assured him. _We’re together now._  
And Subject Zero-Zero-One had believed him and opened himself to Sandman.  
-  
Pete knew he was...meant for things. Since the moment he’d been born, he’d had a purpose, a reason to _be_.  
When he’d been young, still in the white room, his purpose had been to give them the information they wanted. He and Sandman were supposed to be an open book to them, a tell-all into their experiment. The two of them, two in one, were supposed to show the scientists the future.  
And then he’d been rescued and his purpose had changed. He could still remember the night he’d been taken. _Taken_. At the time, the white room was all he’d known, all he’d ever known. He’d been born in those walls, raised in them, taught by them everything he knew. They had been his home and, for all the fear and pain he knew, it’d been _all_ he’d known. And then, on a night when both he and his nightmare had been asleep, exhausted, their door had been forced open and a man had come inside, dressed too colorfully to be a Draculoid and too tense and unfriendly to be a scientist. His face had been a mask of color, painted with blood and shades of bright that he hadn’t had words for at the time, and he and his woman friend had stolen Pete and Sandman out of their bed.  
He knew, now, when he’d been taught and educated, and his purpose had changed, that he’d been _rescued_ , but it had felt like being _taken_ when he was still a child, and Sandman hadn’t known otherwise, either.  
Now that he was older, his purpose was different. His purpose was to lead the Young Bloods, be the ruler Yeezus was going to mold him into. The kind of leader that Yeezus couldn’t be, because Yeezus didn’t have Sandman in him to fight BL with.  
Pete had always had a purpose, but after he’d been rescued, he’d been allowed to realize that he was more than just a purpose. He was many things.  
He was the only surviving member of Project Suiteheart, he and Sandman. He still had his collar to prove it, ‘PROJECT SUITEHEART SUBJECT 001,’ written along now-yellowing paper curled up and twisted and wrinkled even through the ever-peeling lamination after years of his studies of it, his thoughts as he stared at it and _wondered_. Rarely was it what he was looking at though. Instead of the _it_ in his hands, he’d see the _it_ that had once been around his neck; when it had been new, a pearl white, and he’d been only just old enough to talk on his own. Just old enough to think for himself. Just old enough to remember the _agony_ he’d gone through before he’d escaped and was able to relax into the cinderblock of his new bedroom in a safe, relatively stable building far from Linda Vista’s walls.  
He was a fighter. He was an adapter. He was someone who knew how to move and change to his surroundings, how to _become_ who he needed to be. Sandman had that ability, but he couldn’t quite get it right, quite fit in with real people enough to convince those who were looking. Pete didn’t have that problem, though, because Pete could transform himself within the blink of an eye.  
He was, most of all, a leader.  
A leader who cared about the people he led, who wanted the best for them and wanted the _most_ for them. He was a leader who fought tooth and nail at their sides, made the decisions that others couldn’t. He was a leader who _understood_ the anger and chaotic being inside of him and tilted it to his advantage, the kind that had taken the uncontrollable weapon locked inside of himself and _changed_ it into something _usable_ , something that was a _benefit_ to his people.  
He was a leader the likes of which no one had ever seen before, not even Yeezus or his parents.  
Or, at least, he would be.  
One day.  
-  
“Pete,” Beyoncé snapped and Pete was brought back down to earth just in time to avoid getting his ass handed to him. He still landed too hard, still felt the sharp sting of the ring against his back and head, but - when it came down to it - the slight shock of falling on his ass was a lot better than the lasting repercussions of Beyoncé’s roundhouse.  
“Sorry,” He set up, rubbing the back of his head to check for blood. He’d split it open a number of weeks ago, and he could still feel the phantom pains of his skull being split when he hit his head too hard.  
“Don’t apologize,” She crossed her arms. He winced when she did the hip cocking thing, because Beyoncé’s Hip Cock Of Disappointed Rage was one of his less loved Beyoncé Mannerisms. “You best get your shit together. Yeezus isn’t gonna go easy on you like I’ve been.”  
“Easy,” Pete nodded, “Right. Sorry. My head’s been...slipping.”  
“Something on your mind?” She turned away from him, her braid slapping over her shoulder and sticking to her sweaty back as she powdered her hands and rewrapped them. She didn’t usually prepare like this when they sparred, but Pete figured that it would be the last time they’d have the chance in at least a week or so, so she had wanted to go all out. His own knuckles were also wrapped, to avoid splitting them open and leaving any wounds in odd places for sand to settle into, but it was making his fingers feel tight - bound together. It was a far cry from the first time they’d taped his knuckles, when he’d been eight and had accidentally wrapped his fingers together and fallen into a panic attack big enough to knock his ass out, but it still made him a little embarrassed. Once the tape was on, he wouldn’t touch it again until the sparring matches were over.  
“Just this caravan thing. I don’t understand why we’re going.”  
She turned back to him, holding one of their small sparring bags. Pete’s legs ached just looking at it, but he still took the proper stance when she stepped close enough. He waited until she gave the signal and then began to count out kicks, alternating between legs.  
One-two-three-four-left jab. One-two-three-four-right hook. One-two-three-four-drop.  
“One of our business partners has some bad blood with Yeezus because of this fuckin’ rebellion.” She grunted, barely moving an inch as he wailed on the bag in her hands. He could see the way her arms strained, holding up the heavy sand bag with no support underneath, steadying herself under his barrage. She was amazing. Pete was proud to call her his adopted mom, not that they used words like _mom_ and _son_ in regards to each other. It was an unspoken thing, and he got _no_ special treatment. “Some family is gonna be in the Parade. He’s pissed Yeezus didn’t open one of our ways out, so to smooth it over, we’re making especially sure that his kid gets to the ports.”  
“Couldn’t we have opened one?” Pete frowned, pausing, “I mean, we’ve got at least three. We could have used one.”  
“And lost a whole import and export opportunity?” Beyoncé raised her eyebrow and Pete took the hint, “It wasn’t a risk Yeezus was willing to take.”  
“Yeah, but, now, a hundred people are going to die and Yeezus is gonna have to leave the city.”  
“Look at it as recon.” She admonished, dropping the bag and catching his foot mid kick. He tried to prepare for her to drop and kick his leg out from under him but he overcompensated and, instead of dropping, she shoved him backwards.  
He landed on his ass again, wincing.  
“The way to the Carburetor Ports is an important thing to know, especially for someone in your position. This is the convoy taking our kids. It would have taken you, if Jay-Z hadn’t liked you so much.”  
Pete scoffed, because he knew she was teasing, even under that hard shell, but he saw her point.  
“I guess it would be good to know the way.”  
“Exactly. So stop pouting. You’re distracting yourself.”  
“And distraction gets you killed.” Pete repeated, so she wouldn’t make him.  
“So, you _do_ learn.”  
“Andy!” Pete turned, grinning. Andy watched him from the doorway to the makeshift gym, a clipboard in his thin arms and an unamused look on his face.  
“Pete.”  
“What are you doing here?”  
“Yeezus caught me going through your desk. He sent me here to tell you to stop making me work so much.”  
“Ah, Andy,” Pete grinned, “What would you do if you weren’t taking care of me twenty-four-seven?”  
“Be much more relaxed, I’d say.” Andy rolled his eyes, adjusting his glasses. Pete laughed, but cut himself off when he was bodily dragged across the floor by his foot and flipped.  
“Ow.”  
“Beyoncé,” Andy said, politely, “I have your schedule.”  
“Thanks, kid.” Beyoncé smiled, stepping over Pete to take the paper he held out to her, “You know you don’t have to do this. There’s a lot of stuff you could be doing. Training, for instance.”  
“I am training.” Andy argued, “I’m training my mind. You can’t honestly think this idiot will be able to run a whole faction as large and growing in industry as the Young Bloods by himself, can you?”  
“It’s true,” Pete agreed, sitting up and beginning to rub himself down to avoid cramping, “I’m a great leader, but I’ve not got a good head for timetables quite like Andy.”  
“You spoil him,” Beyoncé sighed, ruffling Andy’s long, brown hair as she slipped out of the ring. She hadn’t worked up enough of a sweat to rub down like Pete needed to. “I’ll see you for your usual, later.”  
“Of course,” Andy nodded, getting into the ring through the ropes she’d moved to get out through. “Yeezus is waiting with Cee Lo for you. To go over the latest compound renovation plans.”  
“Got it,” She offered a hand as she left and Pete watched her go, still thinking about what she’d said.  
“Hey,” He took the hand Andy offered and pulled himself up, once she’d disappeared from sight, “Beyoncé says the Carburetor Ports are important for me to know the way to. What do you think?”  
“If you need it in the future, it’s very important.” Andy raised an eyebrow.  
“I thought so, too.” Pete slapped Andy’s shoulder, “Just thought I should check with my brain. What’s the day like, Hurley?”  
Andy rolled his eyes, but he flipped a few pages on his clipboard and started reading, “Right now, you’ve got about an hour of free time. Following that, it’s lessons with Jay-Z, and then going over forms with Yeezus. Finally, tonight, you need to pack up to leave. The Black Parade Rebellion is tomorrow morning, and you’ll be leaving an hour after its end.”  
“Shit...How’s Patrick?”  
“He’s...okay,” Andy flipped the pages back to their proper places, “I gave Victoria your instructions, so she’ll be on the look out for him while you’re gone.”  
“And you’ll keep an eye on him, too.” Pete agreed, “I want my best man’s eyes on him.”  
“Then have Travie do it,” Andy sighed, but he made a side note on the top paper.  
“Nonsense,” Pete scoffed, “Travie would get bored and leave my Lunchbox alone. I can trust that you won’t do that.”  
“Yeah,” Andy said dryly, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  
“You have my full confidence, Hurley,” Pete laughed, looping an arm over Andy’s shoulders, “Now, you said we had an hour, free? Let’s go find Travie.”  
“Travie is busy,” Andy argued, “ _Training._ In fact, _you_ should take the time to train.”  
“With Travie?” Pete laughed, “The others would never allow it.”  
“Fuck them,” Andy grumbled, his fingers tightening on the clipboard, “You’re the fucking heir to the faction, they can fucking deal.”  
“Don’t stress about it,” Pete smiled, losing a little bit of his bravado, “Let’s just go see if we can steal him away without anyone noticing.”  
“Pete…” Andy warned, but he didn’t try to stop Pete when he was pulled through the door. Two years at Pete’s side had already shown him how futile trying to talk Pete out of a bad idea could be.  
 _Poor kid,_ Sandman grumbled, turning over in his bed. Their shared space was kind of strange, or Pete thought so, at least. He’d always been told that a mind space was supposed to be a black void. Or, maybe, a landscape. Pete’s, and Sandman’s, was neither of those. The time they’d both floated through blackness for what had felt like millennia had been quite enough black void for them. Instead, their space was a replica of his room from back when he’d been in Linda Vista. He could still remember every detail of it, from the slight cracks in the doorway from the first time Sandman had lost control in his too-small body and nearly ripped the door apart, to the just-off shade of white in the top left corner, above Pete’s bunk. It helped that he’d submitted the image of the room to Sandman when they’d been offhandedly discussing sprucing the shared space up, because at that time, Pete hadn’t been allowed to express his creativity at all, let alone enough to have _imagination_. So they’d settled on the room, and it had always stuck. When he closed his eyes, spoke to Sandman, he could picture them sitting in that room, across from each other on separate beds, feet of space between them feeling like mere centimeters.  
 _Barely fourteen, following you around like a secretary._  
 _Shut up,_ Pete offered, as kindly as he could, _No one cares what you think, Sandman._  
Sandman just huffed at him, hard, and Pete tried not to laugh in his oddly painted face. Sandman didn’t like it, that Pete pictured him as a more paint-loving version of himself, instead of the all-powerful, monster-headed _thing_ he’d shown himself as once upon a time, but it had been over ten years together and they both knew the image was going to stick for the rest of their shared lifespan. Sandman wouldn’t admit it, but it was the form he pictured himself as, too, since he couldn’t actually remember what he looked like.  
 _You’re going to wake up with a shaved head,_ Sandman snapped back. Pete wisely left alone, because the last time he’d said something like that, Pete _had_ woken up with a shaved head. Beyoncé had been pissed, because _bald_ was a lot harder to hide than black hair.  
Pete could understand why Sandman was pissed. If Pete was going out into the desert with Beyoncé and Yeezus, that meant Sandman wouldn’t be able to come out.  
Pete just couldn’t take the risk, not around desert dogs and motorbabies.  
Sandman just wasn’t capable of staying stable and Pete didn't want a fight or, worse, a murder, on their hands because Sandman couldn't control his violent tendencies.  
Pete dragged Andy along behind him as they headed towards the training barracks. Pete and Beyoncé had been using Yeezus’ personal one and the regular rings were on the other side of the building, so they had a little bit of a walk before they finally spotted Travie getting his ass handed to him by Shakira.  
“I told you he was busy,” Andy nudged him, “She won’t be happy if you fuck with their training. Let’s just wait.”  
Pete sighed loudly, but he let Andy drag him to the benches against the wall to wait. Pete didn’t like staying in one place too long, especially a room full of people. He tried to pretend not to feel eyes on him, or that he was sitting in the same place someone else had been just moments before, before they’d seen he and Andy coming. He didn’t let it bother him.  
Pete crossed his arms, leaning his back against the cold brick of the wall and tried not to scowl under their looks. He felt Sandman shifting under him, a teasing force just waiting to be let out, waiting to make everyone even more scared of Pete than they already were.  
Andy didn’t seem to notice the strange, sometimes hostile, looks the two of them were getting, so Pete tried to pretend that he didn’t either. Instead, he pulled his communicator from his pocket and opened one of the files he was supposed to have been looking over the night before. It was his second to last one, though, and as long as he had them memorized by the time they left, he wouldn’t get in trouble with Yeezus.  
“What’s he doing here?” His ears picked up without his permission. He didn’t want to hear the conversation, but he couldn’t help it.  
“Doesn’t he have a private, more _secure_ practice space?”  
“ _Shh_ ,” Someone hissed, “Don’t let him hear you! _He’ll_ come out!”  
“That monster,” Someone grunted and Pete looked down. He noticed that his fingers were white, gripping the communicator too hard. “I don’t know how Yeezus could have kept him around so long. Everyone knows he’s Better Living scum, fucking dangerous shit. One day, that monster will come out and kill us all.”  
Pete flinched and that seemed to be all Andy could handle pretending not to notice, because he lightly placed his clipboard down and stood up.  
“Andy,” Pete started, trying to grab his wrist, but Andy dodged him - because two years worked against Pete just as much as it worked for him.  
“Hey!” Andy snapped, “Say that shit to my face, asshole.”  
Pete followed him, barely wincing at the whole group of people who flinched away from him. Away from what he was.  
The four guys, and one girl, in the corner opposite he and Andy looked away from each other and towards the two of them. Pete recognized them as some of Cee Lo’s new trainees, around his own age.  
“Andy,” Pete frowned, clutching his shoulder, “It’s okay. They’re allowed to say what they want.”  
“Shut up, Pete.” Andy curled his fists, “They can say what they want, I won’t stop them, but don’t fucking think for a second that I won’t kick their asses for saying it.”  
“Yeah,” Travie draped a long, dark arm across Pete’s shoulders, appearing from fucking nowhere. Of course, they weren’t exactly being quiet and most of the room was watching them now. Pete would be lucky if this wasn’t reported straight to Beyoncé instead of Yeezus. “Everyone knows we don’t censor here. But you’ve got consequences for your words, ya’ know?”  
The loudest of the five, the chick, sneered just a little. She fell into position, her fists raised.  
“Bring it, Pig lovers. No matter what anyone else says: once Better Living, always Better Living. You might pretend to be loyal to us, but you and that monster inside of you aren’t worth the dirt Yeezus walks on, let alone Beyoncé!”  
“Shut the fuck up!” Andy snapped, falling into his own fighting stance, “You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”  
“Andy!” Pete tried to step between them, but Travie held him back.  
“Don’t worry, Pete.” Travie got him in a loose headlock, “People can’t go around insulting their future leader. Especially not in front of us.”  
 _You could let me eat them,_ Sandman laughed, _Just let me out. Just for a little bit._  
 _Stop_ , Pete snapped, _You know that isn’t going to happen. You come out at **night**. It’s day. My time._  
“Hey!” Shakira suddenly stepped between them, her hands on her hips. Her glare was almost as scary as Beyoncé’s and even Andy backed up under it. “What the hell do you people think you’re doing? If you want to fight, then you step into the ring. Otherwise, get your shit together. Maja, what the hell do you have to say for yourself? I thought you were better than starting fights like this. And Andy,” She turned fully to him and Andy stood up from his stance. He didn’t lose the aggression in his limbs though, like if he could get a clear shot over her, he’d take it.  
“Beyoncé isn’t gonna be happy.”  
“I’m Pete’s guard,” Andy defended himself, “What kind of useless shit would I be if I let trash like _them_ talk about him like that? Pete’s better than any of them!”  
“Andy!” Pete gripped Andy’s shoulder before sliding his hand down Andy’s arm, to his wrist. He squeezed him, tugging him away from Shakira, “Calm down. They weren’t hurting me.”  
“Yes, they were!” Andy shouted, “And now I’m going to hurt them!”  
“Andy,” Pete soothed, her hand squeezing hard enough to hurt Andy, if it wasn’t so obviously calming him down, “Andy, it’s okay. They’re just words. I swear, I’m okay. They can’t touch me.”  
“Yeah, Andy,” Maja jeered, “Listen to your master! What a fucking pet,”  
“Shut the fuck up!” Pete snapped at her, “You couldn’t fucking survive a second in the ring with Andy, I’m saving _your_ ass here, not his.”  
“All of you!” Shakira shouted, bringing them to silence again, “Shut the fuck up! Maja, you and your little crew are done. Get cleaned up and report your asses to Cee Lo. Starting fights like this shows me you are _definitely_ not mature enough to be training under Beyoncé and I right now. And _you two_ ,” She turned on Andy and Travie, eyes flicking over Pete like he wasn’t even there, “The two of you are on kitchen duty, three days.”  
“They started it,” Travie frowned, “Maja needs to keep her mouth shut about shit she don’t know.”  
“You two need to grow up,” Shakira stared at them hard, “Pete’s going to face shit like this for the rest of his life. He doesn’t need you two fighting useless battles for him. Did he ask the two of you to confront five dumbass soldiers? Did he _want_ the two of you to fight for him?”  
“No, he didn’t ask.” Andy muttered, looking down, “But Pete never asks anyone to fight for him!”  
“That’s because Pete knows what his job is.” Shakira crossed her arms. “Do you?”  
Andy flinched like he’d been slapped.  
“That’s what I thought. Travie, you and Cee Lo are going to be having a talk. And _you_ , Hurley, are going to be training _double time_ with Beyoncé when she returns. Got it?”  
“Got it.” Travie looked down. “Sorry, Shakira.”  
“Damn right you are, interrupting this session like that. All of you are dismissed. Get the hell out of my rings.”  
She pointed at the door and Pete dragged Travie and Andy from the room before Maja could say anything else. He felt his eyes burning, but he didn’t want anyone to see it. He _did_ know what his job was. Dealing with bullshit from people who didn’t know them was part of it. He was being shaped by Yeezus, molded into the perfect heir, the perfect leader for the Young Bloods. Not to be loved, but to be followed. No one could _love_ someone like Pete.  
Travie and Andy let themselves be dragged through halls of doorways, up flights of stairs, and behind closed doors, until Pete felt like they were far enough away to stop. He breathed hard through his mouth, in through his nose.  
“Pete,” Andy started, sounding contrite.  
“You know your job,” Pete interrupted. “You do. Thank you for defending me.”  
“I should have listened to you,” Andy muttered, twisting his hand to squeeze Pete’s wrist back. “I should have. I’m sorry.”  
“Me, too, man.” Travie grunted, reaching out to ruffle Pete’s hair, “Next time, I’ll just punch them instead of talking.”  
“You don’t have to,” Pete smiled, feeble but real. “I know what I am.”  
“You’re a _person_ ,” Travie frowned, “Not an experiment, or a project.”  
“Not anymore, at least.” Pete joked. Neither of them laughed.  
“I just wanted to hang out,” Pete sighed after few minutes of upset quiet, “I’m leaving for like a week. Maybe two.”  
“Too long, you mean.” Andy muttered, “I still don’t understand why I can’t go with you. If both my charge and my mentor are going, why shouldn’t I?”  
“Because someone needs to stay with Salt and Pepa and learn the ropes.” Pete grinned, “So they can teach me. And to watch over my Angelcakes.”  
“Whatever,” Andy crossed his arms, sighing out loud. It was playful, but only forcibly so.  
“Then let’s hang,” Travie suddenly laughed and the tension was broken, “We can do a little friendly sparring.”  
“Just what I wanted,” Pete sighed, “To get beat up by my best friends before I go on a harrowing, heroic journey.”  
“Exactly,” Travie agreed, playfully punching his arm, “Took the words right out of my mouth.”  
-  
Pete remembered the day he’d met Travie, and the night he’d found Andy, whether he wanted to or not.  
Travie had been Pete’s first friend, when he’d woken up in a strange place, surrounded by strange people. They’d asked him what his name was, but his name had been Subject Zero-Zero-One and it had said so on his collar so he hadn’t understood what they’d wanted.  
The adults had been frustrated, because Pete couldn’t stop crying. He’d tried to stop, honestly, but he’d been _scared_ because he was used to the pain they inflicted already and anything _new_ was _scary_ and he didn’t like scary things. Not even Sandman had wanted to come out and face the strangers. Pete had missed Doctor Addy and Linda Vista and his bed. He’d missed his walls and his door and the safety of a lock.  
And then Travie had appeared, with a smile and a few cookies. He’d set on Pete’s bed, no hesitation, but no pushing like the strange men and women had tried, and he’d offered him one of the cookies and a small glass of milk, and they’d eaten a treat together. Pete had never eaten with anyone else before, and he’d never had chocolate before and it had made his tongue tingle, his teeth ache in a good way.  
Travie had introduced himself, all buck teeth and freckles on dark skin, and Pete had pointed at his collar and introduced himself, too.  
“Those are numbers,” Travie had scoffed, “Not a name. Names are like...Travis, or Beyoncé. You don’t have a name?”  
“Everyone calls me Zero-Zero-One.” Pete had shrugged. Travie had looked him up and down critically, and three year olds could be _quite_ critical, before he’d looked around the room. He’d ended up dragging a book to Pete’s lap, who, at the time, had never seen a book outside of Doctor Addy’s notebook a day in his short life, and opening it up to the title page.  
“This is Peter Pan,” Travie had explained, pointing at the words Pete couldn’t read. Then he pointed to the black outline of a boy flying in the sky, legs straight but arms spread wide and free, upside down. “And this is Peter. Your name is Peter now, okay?”  
“Peter.” Pete had repeated, thinking it over, “I like it.”  
“Of course, you do,” Travie had scoffed again, “You’re a natural Pete. I can tell, that’s why your name is Peter.”  
Later, months later, Pete had added ‘Wentz’ to the end because it had sounded cool. Like ‘wince,’ but with a different spelling. With a ‘z’, because ‘z’s looked really cool and he wanted to be cool.  
The two of them had grown up together, gotten older and drifted apart and then together again as their training threw them into close quarters, but, even at their farthest drift, Pete never forgot Peter Pan, or Travie.  
Andy, on the other hand, was a story Pete almost wished he could forget. Sometimes, he wished Andy could forget, too, if it didn’t mean Andy forgetting _Pete_.  
Pete couldn’t forget, though. Who could forget a pile of bodies mutilated like that?  
He’d been patrolling with Cee-Lo, barely thirteen, and they’d split up at a fork in the alleys. Cee-Lo had assured him that the forks would meet up within a mile, and he’d trusted Pete on his own until then. They hadn’t been separated for more than five minutes, when he’d heard screaming.  
It had been desperate screaming. The kind of crying out with the last dredged of strength that signified just how very much that person wanted to live. Pete had followed it, because that type of crying was familiar to him, pulled at him because he could identify with it, connect it to the way Sandman had sounded the first time they’d found each other, even if he couldn't remember that moment.  
He’d followed the crying until he’d found himself at the mouth of an alley, deep and dark and _reeking_ of death. He’d hesitated, unsure if he had wanted to keep going. He’d never purposefully put himself in such a dangerous situation without one of his foster parents by his side.  
But someone had screamed. Someone had cried out in pain, in anger. Someone had wanted to _live_ , and Pete couldn’t leave them alone, in some dirty, stinking alley when they needed him.  
He’d taken the step, and then another and another, like that first had had all the momentum he’d needed to run into the blackness.  
He’d reached the end of the alley, and he’d lost his breath. Sandman had snapped his eyes open from sleep and reared up, pushed until he’d shared Pete’s body, so he could see by the dying light of the purple sky, the sight that Pete had found.  
It wasn’t uncommon for whole families to be wiped out, but neither of them had ever come across the aftermath like this. Rotting. The bodies were _rotting_ , piled on top of each other two across and six high, the rot of them _permeating_ the air with the aftermath of an ended life. The bodies ranged in size from almost _too_ old to be living, to much, much too small to deserve being dead, but Pete didn’t want to focus on that. He’d wanted to turn, run away and erase the imagine of a whole clan, murdered and then piled on top of each other like trash, with a long pole sticking out from one part of the pile, from his mind.  
But a hand had moved, and his body had frozen. Fingers had twitched, clawed at the bodies above it weakly, trying to push the dead weight of what could have been two to four bodies atop it off.  
Pete had yanked the pole free and started dragging the body of a man off the pile before he’d even realized what he was doing.  
 _I’d rather not_ , Sandman had grumbled, which meant that half of Pete’s body was not helping, much to his chagrin.  
 _If you aren’t going to help_ , Pete had snapped, _Than leave me alone so I can!_  
 _Better Living might be lurking nearby,_ Sandman had argued, _What if we’re attacked?_  
 _We’ll leave a lot quicker, if you’d fucking help me here!_  
And Sandman hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d finally pitched in. Together, they’d yanked what had turned out to be five bodies from the pile before the rest of the hand’s body had been discovered.  
It was a body, later discovered to be named Andy. But, at the time, he’d only been a strange boy, to Pete and Sandman. His eyes had been nearly rusted shut with dried blood and sweat, tears streamed from them and creating dirty trails through the blood and body matter on his face. He’d bitten into his lip so hard that a thin stream of fresh blood had escaped and trailed down his chin and cheek to mix with the tears, adding to the already bloody wounds he’d possessed.  
Pete hadn’t known what to do. He’d not been prepared for what happened after a boy was found buried under the bodies of his massacred family.  
The boy had lifted his hand, weakly, crying out again, and Pete had reacted automatically. He’d reached out, grabbed the boy by the wrist, and squeezed.  
“It’s okay, now.” Pete had reassured, “I’m going to help you.”  
The boy had twisted his hand, caught Pete’s wrist, and squeezed back with all he’d had.  
-  
And that was how Pete had met his best friends.  
-  
 _Sandman was a being of power._  
 _Sandman was a being of **chaos** , of **destruction** and **superiority.**_  
 _He was no pawn, not for Yeezus and the fucking **Young Bloods** to use, not for those pricks in Better Living to **use**_ , _not for anyone._  
 _He **wasn’t** a fucking **tool**._  
 _The problem was, Sandman couldn’t remember what he **was.** He wanted to remember, but they had done something to him, those fucking **scientists** , and he didn’t know how to reverse it. He wanted to know what he was, because he was no computer program. There was more than **code** running through him, more than data that made him up. He was all-powerful, all-consuming. He was a monster of historical proportion, with powers beyond human comprehension. He was a **god**._  
 _And he was stuck inside of an insignificant human like Pete fucking Wentz._  
 _Not to say that he didn’t...enjoy Pete. Pete was his, in a way that other humans weren’t. Pete had given him a host, a body, a vessel in which he could store himself until he could figure out what Better Living had done, how exactly he was supposed to get free of it. Until then, the boy was to be protected and cared for. It wasn’t **Pete** that Sandman had a problem with, but those wretched people Pete was surrounded by._  
 _Sandman didn’t like being **used** , and he didn’t like **Pete** being used. Being raised by Better Living, or the Young Bloods, or whoever had control of Pete, it didn’t matter. They all had designs on him, wanted him as the perfect experiment - raised from barely old enough to **breathe** on his own with an **AI** in him, as if all that Sandman was, one of their creations - to wanting him to lead some useless fucking rebellion. They all **wanted** something, something Sandman wasn’t willing to give, even if Pete had **actually** understood just what it was they wanted._  
 _Beyoncé, Jay-Z, Yeezus, Doctor Death Adder, all of them, were liars and fakes. Maybe they did care about Pete, in their own fucked up ways, but no one loved Pete like Sandman did, because no one could ever love anything as much as Sandman loved himself. He wanted to **live** , and he needed Pete for that. They’d made a pact when they’d joined, a pact that had promised survival to each other, and Sandman wasn’t willing to give his fucking life to those who would brainwash Pete and himself into it._  
 _‘Good’, ‘Bad’, it was all the same to him. Drac or Young Blood, Oppressor or Oppressed, they were all the same to him._  
Don’t you think it’s funny _, Sandman breathed into Pete’s ear that night. He could have walked the corridors for the hundredth time, explored the streets, butchered a few of the ‘Bad’ guys so Yeezus would stay off his back about scaring his precious soldiers, but it was so much more **fun** to fuck with Pete, open his eyes to all the injustices around him in new, creative ways, _That so many people are going to die?  
How is that funny, Sandman? _Pete grunted, turning away from him so his back was to Sandman. Had it been anyone else, any **where** else, Sandman would have taken the opportunity to shove his fist through their spinal cord and snap it like a fucking twig. But it was Pete, and they were in their shared space, and blood was so hard to scrub out of white subconscious, so he refrained._  
Like Beyoncé said _, Sandman chimed. He felt his form change, let himself blend into the shadows cast under Pete’s bunk, and he used the advantage to twist himself through the underbelly of the bed and pop up on Pete’s other side, black eyes meeting half open brown,_ What would the Young Bloods do without that **third** entry point? How would we ever recover from using such a **needed** and **often used** hole in the wall like **that**? I mean, what’s a few hundred lives, a few hundred children, to the piles of **cash** ,  
You know that’s not what it’s about! _Pete snapped, sitting up,_ It’s too dangerous to open a hole for a single rebellion! We’d have to keep it open constantly, or it just wouldn’t be fair! We have to look at the big picture here, and the big picture means that some paint get used up!  
What? _Sandman gaped, faking astonishment,_ Leave a widely known escape route open for the general public? How would Yeezus make a profit off that!? Oh, the humanity, telling people about a safe way out of the city! Why, we’d lose our most marketable demographic: the dying and destitute of Battery Fucking City!  
Shut up! _Pete lashed out, pushing Sandman away from his bedside,_ Money isn’t what it’s about! BL would find out about the hole in a heartbeat!  
From who _? Sandman laughed,_ From the rebellion leaving as we speak? They’ll all be gone. From the next group of people asking for salvation through our exit? Oh, or do you mean the disguised BL operative that we can apparently spot from a mile away?  
Why do you always do this to me!? _Pete cried, pulling at his hair until a few strands fell out,_ Why do you always torture me like this!? Can’t I just keep my eyes closed? Can’t I just be left in the dark!?  
I **am the dark!** _Sandman nearly howled, solidifying and ripping the curtain between the bed area and the bathroom area off the ceiling,_ And you will **not** follow anyone blindly! I won’t live like a pawn, not because you don’t want to look at things like a fucking adult!  
I’m not an adult! _Pete screamed, shoving off of his bed,_ I’m a fucking kid! I’m a kid and I don’t want to make anyone I love a bad guy!  
They’re all **bad guys**! _Sandman grabbed Pete’s face between his hands, shook him a little,_ There are **no good guys,** Pete! Not a one! Every single person in this world is only after one things: What **they** want, and it’s about fucking time you stopped hero-fying every person that shows you a smidge of happiness! Yeezus is fucking **using** you, Pete!  
He loves me. All three of them love me, _Pete argued, sounding young again, reaching up to grip Sandman’s wrists. It was different from when he grabbed Andy - those touches were meant to support **Andy** , to calm him down and offer a shoulder for Andy to control himself on. This was the exact opposite, Pete searching for something solid to hold onto while he reeled. It reminded Sandman of when they’d first been thrown together, and Sandman had spent many a night curled around Pete in their mind space, protecting him from the monsters at the door. Sandman hadn’t known anything, still didn’t know anything, and it had been all he could do to keep himself stable through the confusion and never-ending pain, to find purpose in making sure his body was okay._  
Maybe _, Sandman let Pete’s face go, stepped away,_ But love doesn’t make someone a good person. Look at us.  
What am I supposed to do? Yeezus won’t open the exit, not even if I convince Beyoncé it’s a good idea. Which I won’t, because she and Yeezus are solid.  
It’s not about doing something to fix it, _Sandman shrugged,_ It’s about being aware. I’m sick of you just flowing with it.  
But that’s what I **do** , _Pete set on his bed,_ That’s what I’ve been trained to do. Just go with Yeezus. Think like he would.  
Then let them think that’s what you’re doing, _Sandman snapped and the curtain was back on the ceiling, unripped and still the same pale white as the first time he’d seen it._ But fucking **think** , Pete. For fuck’s sake, you’re sixteen. We aren’t the same kid we used to be. Use your fucking head. You’re going to learn the fucking way to the Carburetor Ports. Do you even understand the magnitude of that?  
It sounds like you care about what happens to use humans, _Pete pointed out, smiling a little. Sandman scoffed, because he couldn’t give **less** of a shit about humans if he tried, but for the chance to piss Yeezus or Beyoncé off even a little, he’d do it._  
The big picture, _Sandman set on his own bed, crossing his arms,_ Doesn’t sound like a painting to me. It sounds like a big fucking bomb. I don’t want to go down as the same kind of collateral that these fuckers are. Remember our pact.  
We’re going to live _. Pete set on his own bed, across from Sandman. Their feet were pointed towards each other, identical except for the color._ We swore _._  
Let’s just make sure our definitions of **living** are still the same, _Sandman warned,_ Because mine isn’t living as whatever Yeezus is trying to mold us to be.  
Mine, either _, Pete muttered, but it sounded like more of a realization than a confirmation to Sandman._  
 _-_  
Pete didn’t wake up rested.  
Instead, he woke up confused and defensive, angry at everyone except maybe Andy or Travie, the former of which had come to wake him up with the unhelpful facts of the Black Parade Rebellion.  
“About a hundred and ten people made it out, versus a little over that amount of people who did not. Luckily for us, most, if not all, of the children got through, thanks to the efforts of one Party Poison, his crew, and two unknown Paraders.”  
“That many people died?” Pete had to ask, sitting up in his bed. He didn’t want to think about what Sandman had said last night, but he couldn’t help but repeat the words that had been spat at him.  
 _We’d lose our most marketable demographic: the dying and destitute of Battery Fucking City!_  
“That many people survived,” Andy shrugged, not overly sympathetic, “Not everyone is as...lucky as I am. Not all of them had someone like you find them.”  
“Hey,” Pete frowned, because it sucked that so many people had died, but he had his own to think about first, “Watch that headspace, Andy. You keep it clean in there until I get back home, got it?”  
“Got it,” Andy smiled a little. It was early and they were alone, and that was the only time Andy ever lost the sarcastic, stoic face of his. Pete had to admit that he liked Andy either way, because he just _liked Andy_ , but in the mornings, Andy was much gentler. Gentle wasn’t exactly what someone in Pete’s position needed in their bodyguard, but it was what _Pete_ needed when he was talking to his friend, and Andy’s shift didn’t start until they walked out the door.  
Pete offered his hand and Andy relaxed the moment they were holding wrists, his eyes falling shut. Some people might have thought it strange, but Pete could understand. It had only been two years since Pete had brought Andy back to the Young Bloods, and when Pete had been in his position, he hadn’t been able to sleep without Beyoncé or Jay-Z in the room so Andy had a leg up on him already.  
Finally, Andy sighed and his hand relaxed, their grips breaking loose.  
“Here,” Andy handed him a folded cloak from under his arm, “Thick jeans, sleeveless shirt on top of some protective gear, that cloak, and your good riding shoes.”  
“Thanks, Andy,” Pete nodded, standing up and stretching, “We’ll be back.”  
“I know,” Andy agreed, “And, um, I have some news. About Patrick.”  
Pete stopped half way off the bed.  
“Patrick?”  
“Apparently, he went exploring while the Parade was on. His father had a business trip and left him alone, so he took the chance to venture a little farther than normal.”  
“Is he okay? Is he in the desert? Is he hurt? I’ll have to tell Yeezus I can’t go, I can’t leave him if he’s injured, where is he?”  
“Pete,” Andy spread his hands, palms towards Pete, in a ‘calm down’ gesture, “Pete, he’s fine. Just a little shaken up. He got caught in the beginning of the ambush, but he escaped. Victoria found him and brought him home. He’s safe now, and she says he isn’t planning on going out, anymore.”  
“Fuck!” Pete flopped back onto the bed, hitting the thin mattress with his fist, “Damn it, what is _wrong_ with him!? What kind of kid fucking - Ugh!”  
“He’s safe, now,” Andy soothed, “I’m going to watch him constantly. Between myself and my contacts, he’ll be okay.”  
“With our luck, I’ll come back and he’ll have picked up an addiction to fucking happy pills,” Pete grunted, glaring at the wall behind Andy. Pete loved Patrick, but the kid was a fucking attempt on his own life walking.  
“I’ll watch him,” Andy promised, “Like a fucking hawk bot. Don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to know what happened.”  
“Thanks,” Pete sighed, standing up again and finding his jeans. He yanked them on while Andy got his protective gear together. Mainly, it was a thin material made into a shirt with protective material over his elbows, chest, stomach, and neck. The sleeves went all the way down to mid-finger, creating a glove attached to the sleeves. He could unclip the gloves at his palm and peel the fingers back, if he needed the extra dexterity, but it wasn’t too restrictive and Pete could do most things without bothering with them. He pulled it on when his pants were buttoned and then slipped yesterday’s shirt over his head. When he was done, he set back down and slid his shoes and socks on, tying them tightly and then stuffing the excess string into the sides.  
Andy opened the door as he was pinning the cloak around his neck, and grabbing his communicator, and Pete could kind of see the shift in him as he let the world into Pete’s room. His back straightened and he looked rigid, not like the relaxed Andy of a few minutes before.  
“Ready?”  
“As I’ll ever be.”  
Pete slung an arm around Andy as he made it to his side and Andy locked Pete’s door behind him, hooking his own communicator around his neck when he was done with it. Pete had given Andy his access codes a long time ago, practically the week Andy had demanded that Beyoncé train him as Pete’s bodyguard and she’d agreed, and Travie had them, too. They were supposed to only be used in emergencies, but Pete was pretty liberal about the two of them using their codes so he didn’t have to use his own. Unsecure, but laziness won out over caution with his only friends.  
 _Did you scare anyone last night?_ He put out in Sandman’s general direction, a lump covered in a blanket on Sandman’s side of the room.  
 _No. Leave me alone._ Sandman snapped back. He wasn’t a morning person. It didn’t help that he wouldn’t be out for a week or two, unless he wanted to share the body with Pete. Pete couldn’t say that he was much looking forward to the constant control, either, though. He didn’t really understand _how_ normal people could stand being alone in their bodies. In the same way that driving their body tired Sandman out after a few hours, it did the same thing to Pete. They could both average about twelve hours before they crashed and the other one got their turn. Pete figured this would be an endurance test, because he knew that the caravan traveled up to eighteen hours a day, if the time of year was right.  
He’d never been in the desert before, so he had no clue if the time of year was right.  
“Beyoncé, Jay-Z, and Yeezus are in the main office,” Andy informed him, holding up his ever present clipboard. Pete didn’t even know where that thing had been hiding, because Andy hadn’t been holding it in Pete’s room, “Your shit is packed and already on your bike.”  
“What would I do without you?” Pete grinned, squeezing his arm tighter around Andy’s shoulder, “You’re my Beyoncé, you know.”  
“What a compliment,” Andy rolled his eyes, tone dry, but Pete saw right through it.  
They found their way to Yeezus’ office soon enough, and Andy paused outside the door. He wasn’t really allowed in there, not yet, so he nudged Pete’s side before Pete went in.  
“Good luck. Stay safe.”  
“Stick to the Shadows,” Pete yanked Andy up and kissed his forehead wetly, mostly just to see Andy make a grossed out face.  
“Fuck you,” Andy groaned, scrubbing at his forehead, “You’re so gross.”  
“Tell Travie I said ‘bye’,” Pete practically giggled, “And don’t forget to watch out for Pattycakes. See you, Andy.”  
“Get the fuck out of here,” Andy grumbled, but he didn’t leave until Pete had closed the door behind him.  
Beyoncé looked up first, smiling quickly when she saw Pete. It made Pete feel warm. Maybe Sandman had been right, that they weren’t good people, just because they loved him, but they _did_ love him, and Pete was okay with being a neutral party as long as he got to stay with the Young Bloods.  
They’d saved him, taken him _away_ from Better Living, and the pain and fear he’d been living in. If all they wanted in return was for him to learn their ways, make sure their friends and faction were safe if something happened to him, so be it.  
“Pete,” Beyoncé stood up, “You rested?”  
“Sandman was...unhappy, last night.” Pete shrugged, “But I’m rested enough.”  
“What got his panties in a twist?” Jay-Z peeled his eyes off the map he and Yeezus were still studying to look up at Pete, eyebrows wrinkled, “Something up?”  
“No,” Pete shook his head, “Just being pissy. He doesn’t like that he can’t come out.”  
“It’s gotta suck,” Jay-Z sympathized, “Being stuck in a small room. Sorry about that.”  
“He’ll understand when we get there,” Beyoncé shrugged, “Besides, he’d get the whole fuckin’ convoy on our asses.”  
“Doesn’t matter,” Pete crossed his arms, “We have a deal, so don’t worry about him. What are we doing?”  
“Last minute prep,” Jay-Z shrugged, “While Yeezus and Bee are gone, that’s gonna leave us down a head honcho and our overt exec,”  
Jay-Z was probably the only person who could get away with calling Beyoncé ‘Bee’, except for maybe Yeezus, and it made Pete grin, just a little.  
“You’ll be fine. You and Cee-Lo work well together.” Beyoncé rolled her eyes, her hair done up in what looked like an elaborate bun. Pete knew that she’d actually just thrown it up, but she was too pretty to ever look like her hair wasn’t simply artfully tousled.  
“We do not,” Jay-Z wrinkled his nose, “If fuckin’ Snoop weren’t gone…”  
“He’ll be back next week,” Yeezus finally spoke up, shoving his chair back from the table and standing, “Don’t worry, Jay. I trust you. This isn’t the first time I’ve left you two in charge. And Cee-Lo’s got that kid of his on training, so you’ll have someone to teach.”  
“Big Sean?” Jay-Z sighed, “That kid’s got ants in his pants.”  
“Ants in his pants or not,” Yeezus grinned, big and wild, “He’s got spunk. He’ll do fine.”  
“Fine,” Jay-Z grumbled, but he accepted Yeezus’ keycard when it was handed over.  
“We’ll be back soon,” Beyoncé put her hands on her hips and it had the same effect on the two of them as it did on Pete. Jay-Z stopped complaining.  
“Are we all ready to go?” Pete crossed his arms, looking around the room. It was plain cinder block, like every other room in the not small building, and Pete was curious to see how Yeezus would decorate his office when they eventually moved to the underground compound. It was still in works, and would be for a few more years, but Pete couldn’t help but imagine a whole community, underground, filled with color and art and creation.  
“Seems like it,” Yeezus agreed, stretching his arms above his head before he swung his own cloak over his shoulders. Beyoncé had had hers on already, so Pete opened the door for them and let them file through before he followed. Jay-Z locked the door after Pete closed it and the four of them made their way towards the front door. They’d be walking to the wall, where contacts would have bikes waiting for them in the sands.  
“You got here fast,” Yeezus commented, “Maybe I should start sending Andy to wake you up every morning.”  
“Give that boy a break,” Beyoncé snorted, “Poor kid’s already Pete’s secretary. And I know he’s got plans to shadow Salt and Pepa while we’re gone.”  
“He likes responsibility,” Yeezus shrugged, “Can’t go wrong there. We all need a partner, after all.”  
“Flatterer,” Beyoncé deadpanned, making Jay-Z laughed.  
“We could think of it as punishment,” Yeezus pointed out, and Pete held back a sigh. He should have known better than to think he’d get away with yesterday’s fight. Shakira didn’t make empty threats.  
“Care to explain that incident?” Beyoncé raised an eyebrow, “Shakira was pissed. You should have heard the reaming she gave Cee-Lo for passing those kids.”  
“It wasn’t as bad as Andy made it out to be,” Pete muttered, looking at his feet, “They just don’t understand me. That’s okay.”  
“See?” Yeezus ruffled Pete’s hair, “I told you, Jay. Pete’s a smart fuckin’ cookie. He knows he can’t let shit like that bother him. He’s strong.”  
“Yeah,” Beyoncé frowned, “But we can’t keep letting people talk shit on him like that. Those kids learned that shit from somewhere, and I don’t like it.”  
“Pete’s just got to prove himself,” Yeezus shrugged, “You remember how it was. No one liked me, until I made them. That’s how it’s always been.”  
“No one will follow you,” Jay-Z agreed, “If you aren’t worth following.”  
“How do I prove that, though?” Pete frowned, “What, do I have to take down Better Living to prove that just because I came from one of them, it doesn’t mean I’m like them?”  
“Don’t be an idiot,” Beyoncé pressed her hand into his hair and left it there, a steady weight as they left the base and started for the wall. It was a ways away, but they all knew the alleys like the backs of their hands, and she let her hand fall away as soon as they began to move, sticking from shadow to shadow.  
By the time the wall was within easy reach, Pete had almost lost focus on the previous conversation. He was on a mission now, and that came first.  
“This is where we part ways,” Jay-Z stopped at their exit point, a sewer connecting to the tunnels that would one day be their new base of operations. “Be careful.”  
“You, too,” Beyoncé gave Yeezus and Pete looks, so the two of them turned around and gave the two of them a private moment to say goodbye.  
Yeezus dropped into the tunnel without another look, so Pete followed him down.  
“What I meant,” Yeezus said, when they were safely on the ground, “When I said you have to prove yourself, is that you need to show the others that you aren’t a monster. That Better Living took things important to you away, as well. They need to be able to connect with you, trust in you. You’re their voice, Pete. You’ve just got to find that voice in yourself.”  
“Find that voice,” Pete frowned, nodding a little, “Okay. I can do that.”  
“I know you can.” Yeezus smirked, “You’re my son.”  
The bikes were there, along with T-Boz, and they wasted no time getting started. The sun was already up, burning Pete’s skin until he got his helmet on. He didn’t take time to look around him, take in the never-ending sand dunes and bright skies, because neither did Beyoncé or Yeezus. Instead, he sped after them, the speedometer hitting the red almost too fast.  
They traveled for some amount of time, the three of them in a row, but Pete couldn’t tell just how long. There were no markers to give away their locations, just sand pile after sand pile, and then more sand, as far as Pete’s eyes could see. He had no idea how Yeezus knew where he was going, but Pete didn’t want to question it. He couldn’t, even if he had wanted to, because they didn’t stop. Eventually, the van came into view. There was a car between them, the van and Pete’s trio, and Pete could make out a motorcyclist far in front, and another car far behind, a scout and a tail. Yeezus must have flashed a sign or somehow indicated that they were meant to be there, because he fell into formation perfectly, the car taking point in front of the van and the three of them falling to either side, and behind. There was nothing else to do but drive, so Pete flipped the switch on his bike and the corresponding speaker in his helmet came to life. A playlist began its trek in one ear, and the communications link opened in the other. If he had to contact Beyoncé or Yeezus, he had the lines open.  
He got comfortable, made sure he was secure, and let himself drift. He kept his eyes peeled, his balance steady, and his focus ready to snap back into place at any time, but with only sand and the occasional cactus in sight, he didn’t think a surprise would be coming any time soon.  
-  
He hadn’t _not_ believed Beyoncé when she’d warned about things like heat stroke, and drinking enough water on the few, and fast, breaks they took. He _had_ , he just hadn’t realized how _hot_ it could get in the desert. And, worse, it was _dry_ heat, and that meant that the air around him was just _waiting_ to take any moisture from his body that it could. Yeezus had given him ten bottles of water and told him to only use two a day, if he could. They’d be supplied with more water once their rations had run out, but _those_ rations were one bottle per person a day, and Yeezus had known that Pete wasn’t adapted to the heat of the desert. Of course, with Sandman, Pete didn’t _need_ as much water as someone else in his situation - minus the AI - would, but that didn’t mean that he _wanted_ to have a mouth so dry he couldn’t even open it without wincing.  
Still, he lasted the week, with two bottles to spare after cutting down to a bottle and a half, or less when he could.  
“To your left, Pete,” He heard in his ear. It was the first time the communications had been used, not counting announcing pauses for everyone to stretch and rest a little, and it took Pete a few seconds to understand that Beyoncé had given him an order. He whipped his head to the left and veered, spotting the incoming dust cloud, growing bigger astoundingly fast.  
“What is that?” He couldn’t help but ask, becoming increasingly aware of the weight of the ray gun at his hip.  
“Looks like an Exterminator spotted us,” Yeezus answered, “Not a big deal. The three of us probably won’t be enough to take care of it, and the Dracs. We’ll need the car to stop, too.”  
“I’ll flag ‘em down,” Beyoncé agreed, speeding up to fall into place with the car ahead of them.  
“But doesn’t all of us fighting mean that the van has to stop, too?” Pete frowned, revving his engine when the van breaked too hard, too fast, before it started speeding forward again.  
“Yes,” Yeezus grunted, “So we need to make this quick. Pete, you stay with the van when it stops.”  
“Okay,” Pete agreed, feeling antsy. Sandman reared up in him, anxious for a way out and feeling trapped.  
 _Come on, baby,_ Sandman nearly groaned, _Anything to get me out of here. I hope they kill everyone, I hope they get to the van and you have to let me out, have to let me **out** -_  
 _Sandman!_ Pete snapped, _Get a hold of yourself! If something happens, that means we’re just out here even longer. We have a deal, remember?_  
Sandman gave in, for the moment, and stopped salivating for murder long enough for Pete to avoid slamming into the van when it stopped again. He was going to have words with the driver, soon.  
Beyoncé, Yeezus, and the car all bolted towards the dust cloud, moving to cut them off before they got close enough to the van to cause real trouble. Pete watched the collision, could hear the shouting from even where he’d stationed himself, between the dust cloud and the van, and the ray fire. Behind him, inside the van, he could hear children, scared and crying as quietly as they could. Some of them were from the city, were in that van because of the decision his faction had made.  
Pete couldn’t think about it, not right then.  
“Hey,” The tail pulled up, window down, “Another dust cloud. Smaller, I-”  
“Backup!” Yeezus called through the helmet, and Pete held up a finger, “I repeat, backup needed! Send the tail, Pete!”  
“They need back up,” Pete pointed at the big dust cloud, “I’ll take care of the other one.”  
“You? You’re too blue!” The driver laughed, but it cut off when there was a slight explosion from where Yeezus and Beyoncé were fighting with the other crew.  
“Here,” The guy hurled a ray at him, “Use that, if you can. If you can’t, fucking try to give them a bit of a fight, okay?”  
“Fuck you,” Pete muttered, but he discarded the one he’d been given because this one looked used, worn in and trustworthy. He loaded it with the shots Yeezus had given him, and hoped for the best.  
 _Sandman_ , he grunted, _Sandman, listen._  
 _What?_ Sandman snapped at him, pacing through their shared space.  
 _I might need your help. If I share with you, will you **control yourself**?_  
 _Yes,_ Sandman hissed, _Just let me kill them, Pete._  
 _I mean it,_ Pete growled, forceful, _If you don’t control yourself, we could be killed._  
 _I said I would,_ Sandman snarled, _Just show them to me._  
 _If I need you, I will._ Pete promised.  
With his ray pointed towards the sand, he looked around until he spotted the new dust cloud. There were two bikes, both Dracs though one had a colorful suit, and Pete took his chance to aim. His first shot missed by a mile, but he readjusted and his third shot hit home, blasting the bike and sending one of the Dracs spiraling out of control.  
He tried the same with the other, but the Drac began to swerve, zig-zag through the sand and Pete just wasn’t good enough a shot to make that. He had to wait, positioning himself between the on-comer and the van.  
“What do we need to do, angel dust? That’s a fucking Exterminator.”  The driver asked, rolling down the window, “Any bright ideas on how the two of us are gonna defeat it?”  
“Just one,” Pete choked out, switching his hold on the ray to the other hand. He felt like sand was coating his throat, and he hated it. He decided right then and there that he really did hate the desert.  
“I’m gonna fight it.”  
“ _Fight it_?” The woman coughed, “The dust mouth’s gotten to your head. Sand and Sun, help us”  
“It’ll take a long time to kill me, at least,” Pete grinned a little, “If I don’t make it, I dunno what to do. Hope I make it.”  
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” The driver snapped, “Are you _insane_? They’ll ghost you, city slicker! And then this clusterfuck’s really gonna go Costa fuckin’ Rica!”  
“I only really understood half of that,” Pete admitted, “Don’t worry. I won’t lose.”  
“Won’t - are you flyin’ high, dust darlin’? They left a fuckin’ Ritalin Rat with me, what the _fuck_ is wrong with these slickers,”  
“I’m not a zombie,” Pete snapped, “Stop calling me names, sand dog. Just fucking relax. I’ll take care of it.”  
“Fuck you,” She yelled at him, “Just fucking go, he can’t get close enough to see me!”  
Pete mounted his bike again and took off. He could see that the scout was coming back, finally, heading straight for the van so he didn’t worry too much about leaving it.  
He hadn’t figured out how to _stop_ the Exterminator, but skidding in a wide arch in front of it seemed to do the trick. It threw Pete off his bike and sent him sliding across the sand, but the sand moved under him like concrete didn’t and he ended up relatively uninjured. It wasn’t his most graceful fall, but it had probably looked pretty badass and he could only wish that Travie or Andy had been there to see it.  
Most importantly, it had halted the Exterminator. She was hulking when she got off her bike, taller than Pete by at least two feet and wider than him by quite a bit. Her size would have been intimidating, had Sandman not been _frothing_ at the chance to come out.  
“Bin rat,” She grinned, shoving her mask off her face, “They’ve handed you over, huh? You look barely old enough to be guarding the caravan instead of _on_ it.”  
“What caravan?” Pete blinked, “I’ve got no idea what you mean.”  
“Of course not,” She agreed easily enough. The Dracs in the city didn’t have fucking _conversations_ with him before they attacked, and it was throwing him off.  
 _Don’t get distracted,_ Sandman practically raked his claws across Pete’s brain, _Stay fucking focused! She isn’t alive, she’s a fucking dead body being controlled by BL. **Focus** , Pete!_  
 _I’m focused_ , Pete frowned, pushing himself onto one knee, kneeling and prepared to shove to either side to avoid a sudden attack. _We can do this. Just be ready._  
The Exterminator drew and shot before Pete had really even noticed. He barrel rolled on pure instinct, dodging most of the blast, but losing a small portion of his cloak the process. He didn’t have time to pause, just kept rolling to avoid the continued attempts to add a few more holes to his body while he tried to figure out how to get his footing again.  
He finally just reached up and shot wildly, hoping that he’d get lucky, somehow. He heard a hiss and knew that the Shadows were looking out for him, even in the desert, and he took his chance to shove onto his rickety feet and shoot again.  
 _Let me out,_ Sandman demanded, nearly climbing the walls of their shared space, _Let me **devour** them._  
 _Stop,_ Pete snapped, _Let me focus. You can’t do anything from this far away and I’ve got faster reflexes._  
“Nice shot,” The Exterminator smiled, and something was just _wrong_ with the way it fit on her face. It was wooden, unfeeling. An echo of what a real smile looked like, unpleasant or not.  
“Thanks,” Pete grunted, finding his feet. What had worked for him when he was taking a fall off his bike was working against him as he stood. The sand was ever moving under his shoes, unable to be gripped by the soles and unable to be counted on like concrete and asphalt. He dug his feet in and resolved to move as little as possible until she was close enough for him to give up partial control to Sandman. “Still new to the rays, though. More of a fighter, myself. You desert dogs, always too scared to get your hands dirty. I see that’s true all the way across the board, coyote or pig.”  
“You callin’ Better Living employees cowards?” She laughed, dropping her ray so it pointed towards the sand, “Really?”  
“As I see ‘em,” Pete grinned, not bothering to drop his own ray. She was obviously the faster draw and he knew if he gave her the chance, she’d eat him up for dinner due to the distance between them.  
“You really think you can beat me, hand to hand,” She marveled, sounding amused, “Do you know what I am, bin rat?”  
“Trash.” Pete shrugged, “We don’t have classifications in the city. A pig is a pig is a pig.”  
“That’s the difference between a place like this and a place like that,” She laughed, “The strong one’s get sent here. Okay, little rat. We’ll do this your way. You look tasty enough. I’d love to rip the flesh off your bones before I feast on those carburetor chow.”  
She dropped her ray and Pete had just a few seconds to watch it fall before he realized he never should have taken his eyes off her.  
She rammed into him at such a speed and velocity that he had to actually pause to think about the sheer physics of her attack. He couldn’t quite understand how she’d managed to gain so much strength in the distance between them.  
 _Let me let me let me let me,_ Sandman howled, desperate to get out and just _destroy._  
 _Don’t lose control,_ Pete demanded, wrestling with the fucking rabid animal on top of him. She ripped into his cloak and he was suddenly thankful for the thickness of it, glad that the material that had caused him so much discomfort while he rode finally making itself useful in protecting him from her fucking claws.  
 _I won’t,_ Sandman promised, _Just her, just let me consume her, come on, come one, Pete, just **let me** -_  
And then she dug her teeth into his arm and Pete gave in, went under, and let Sandman out to play.  
-  
He came back covered in blood. He hadn’t had to fight for control, and from the way he could still hear fighting in the distance, he knew he hadn’t been out long. He set up, feeling like a cloud. He wasn’t sure _how_ he could feel like a cloud, but he did. Everything was so hazy, blurred in front of his eyes like someone had smudged their thumbs over his eyes and smeared them.  
 _Sandman…_  
 _You’re okay,_ Sandman purred, laying on his bed in bliss. Blood covered his face and Pete could only hope that Sandman hadn't literally eaten their opponent.  
"What..."  
"Good fuckin' job, dust angel!" The driver shouted, getting Pete's attention, “Whatever kind of mojo they’ve got you on, it’s up the fuckin’ wall!”  
“I,” Pete hesitated, looking down at his hands. They were red, too red, and it almost made him ill.  He’d killed before, but he’d never had to dip so deeply into his primal instincts, into Sandman, to do it before.  
 _You’re okay_ , Sandman repeated, licking his fingers, _She’s dead, the kids are safe. Go do something. It isn’t over yet._  
 _Yeah,_ Pete agreed, nodding carefully. _I have to go guard the van._  
 _Exactly,_ Sandman agreed, cleaning the last of the red off his fingers, _Focus on that._  
Pete nodded, scrubbing his hands off on his cloak and getting his sand legs back under him.  
“Is everyone okay?” He yelled, taking the edge of the cloth and wiping at his face. He could feel the blood crusting with a top layer of sand, but he just scrapped it out of his eyes and picked up his bike. She sent him a thumbs up, much to his relief, and he spent the rest of the wait sitting in front of the van, bloody and scared, wishing for the fight to just _finish up_ so he could start running. He’d not really understood the way that desert born were so enamored with the philosophy of running away, _hitting the red line_ , and not stopping until they were forced to. Now, covered in blood and not quite able to remember ripping apart the Exterminator, who he couldn’t even recognize as the pile of guts and sand she’d been reduced to, he thought he understood it a little better.  
Eventually the fighting stopped, though, and the caravan started up again. They’d been making periodic stops, picking up new kids here and there as they went, but they didn’t stop again that day.  
When it got too dark to keep going, safely, they bedded down in a small, rotted out town that had long been abandoned to the Sun and Sand. The kids were kept in the van to sleep, but allowed out for an hour to get rid of nervous energy and use the bathroom if they needed to. Pete had been taking the hour to entertain, try to keep them as happy and smoothed over as possible while on such a high stress journey, but he just didn’t feel like he should be allowed around them. Not with the smile still on Sandman’s cheeks, the pink still staining his teeth.  
“Pete,” Beyoncé frowned, staring at him across their little fire, once the others had fallen into the same sleep that the two of them should have. Yeezus wasn’t quite gone enough to not hear them, but he gave them the illusion of privacy that he usually did. “What happened?”  
“I dunno,” He mumbled, looking at his knees. His hands were still stained and he wasn’t sure what had made it stand out to him so much, this kill. He’d killed before, though not as violently. Maybe it was the pressure of being so present, so in control. He felt so confined, caught in his body and unable to free himself to their shared space, let himself have time away from the world. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on it, that ability to _escape_ when it all became too much. Without it, without Sandman being able to take over when it became too much for Pete, he felt like he was shattering. It was all becoming too much, and the blood dried to his hands, under his nails, was like a constant reminder that he was losing the control he _needed_ to keep a hold on.  
“Pete,” Beyoncé repeated, firmer, “What happened?”  
“Sandman came out,” He admitted, “I couldn’t protect the van by myself, and the Exterminator was too strong. She was gonna rip me apart, and he came out.”  
He didn’t want to mention that it had been premeditated, that he’d known the second that he’d seen the two of them that Sandman would be coming out. He’d pretended to save it as a last resort, but the thought that he could get _away_ , let Sandman out and give up the wheel for just a few seconds, had been almost too much to stand.  
“But you weren’t discovered,” Beyoncé sighed, leaning back, “Relax. Sandman’s been bound for a week now, he’s no doubt ready to kill a whole platoon. One Exterminator’s blood on your hands is nothing.”  
“It’s just,” Pete stopped, biting his lips. He didn’t want to be weak. He wanted to be strong for her, for Yeezus, for Jay-Z. He wanted to make sure that they never regretted rescuing him, never regretting taking him in and naming him heir. He always wanted to make them proud, more than anything, and not being able to handle just a few days of constant control wasn’t anywhere _near_ strong enough for his tastes. Still, it was better to talk it out, let it be known, then allow it to fester and be used against him the next time Sandman threw a tantrum, “It’s just...He isn’t the only one that’s a little...antsy. It’s almost too much, being _here_ so much. I feel restrained and I don’t like it.”  
“It’s training,” Beyoncé smiled, the same one she gave him when it was just the two of them and he wasn’t quite understanding her and she thought it was sweet, in a dumb way. “It isn’t supposed to be pleasant. There are going to be times, times much more important than this, when Sandman just isn’t the best option. And there are going to be times when you aren’t going to be. The two of you are two sides of a coin, but if you flip a coin too often, you’ll only end up dropping it.”  
“I feel like I’m dropping now,” Pete watched the fire. He tried to remember the moments after he’d let Sandman out, but all he was getting was Sandman’s grin - sharp teeth and bloody white lips. “It’s like I’ve been awake for way, way too long.”  
“Fight through it,” She shrugged, “I know you can do this, Pete. For the good of those kids, and the good of yourself. Struggle makes you stronger. You’ve always known that.”  
“I know,” Pete crossed his arms, feeling Sandman’s claws dig into his skin.  
“Today was a hiccup,” She finally offered, “And you’ll have those, every once in a while. Even Yeezus fucks up sometimes. But he learns from his mistakes, just like you will.”  
“Just like I will.” Pete reached out, let the flames lick at his fingertips. It burned, badly, but the pain was gone almost as soon as it came. When he pulled his hands back, the tips of his fingers were a tender pink, but nowhere near injured.  
“Yes,” She reached across the fire, gripped her hand in his hair and shoving his head down lightly, “Now get some sleep. This isn’t feelings hour, this is resting hour. We leave at first light and we’ve got a new crew coming in to pick up some security. Sweet dreams.”  
“Sweet dreams,” Pete nodded, letting himself be pushed until he was laying properly in the sands. It was cold, outside the reach of the fire and he let the warmth of the flame and the security of having Yeezus and Beyoncé around him, Sandman inside him, lull him into a weak, troubled sleep.  
-  
Pete had to say, when he thought back on the trip, that meeting Mikey “Kobra Kid” Way was - by far - the highlight of his travels with the motorbaby caravan.  
He was a part of the Fabulous Killjoy crew, one of the infamous Black Parade Rebellion leaders, but that hadn't been what had impressed Pete. Instead, it had been the way he's held himself. He was like Pete, awkward in the sand in a way his crewmates just weren't. Unlike Pete, though, he _fit_. He was _meant_ for the sand, for all that he held himself like a city born.  
It appealed to Pete, called out to him. Kobra Kid, as he was introduced, was of the same cloth as Pete and they'd clicked immediately.  
Before they had met, though, Pete had just been driving, weaving around the van opposite Beyoncé to keep themselves busy and active. He'd stopped letting himself drift, because he was trying harder to resist Sandman's whining.  
"Incoming," Yeezus spoke into their headsets, "Friendly, do not fire."  
Pete glanced over his shoulder, tensed his shoulders and nodded when the Trans Am pulled up next to his bike, taking point on the left of the van. The convoy stopped just long enough for the driver to shout out a code so Party Poison could shout the right reply back, and then they were gone again. Pete's bike didn't stop running, but Sandman stayed quiet so Pete figured they were safe enough. It wasn't until they'd stopped for the night that he was able to make Mikey's acquaintance, once everyone had set up fires and watches.  
"Pete," Yeezus nudged him, drawing his attention away from the fire, "Pete, these are the Killjoys. This is my apprentice, Pete."  
"Hi," Pete smiled at the three of them, standing and offering his hand. Poison shook, then Jet Star, followed by Kobra Kid.  
"I liked your riding," Kobra offered, smiling a little back at him. Pete could see the shadows of home on him, and it was kind of a comfort. Beyoncé and Yeezus, they'd striped out of what made them city born, had molded themselves to the sand. Pete had tried, honestly, but it had begun to feel like the strings of Shadows that had clung to him, the wisps of Smog, were all that were holding him together.  
"Thanks," Pete grinned, a little more real, "It's a good bike. Desert made."  
"I can tell," Kobra nodded, "Um, it's kind of a Frankenstein, but all of the parts are real good."  
"You could tell just from watching?"  
"Kind of," Kobra shrugged, "Jet Star is better at cars and shit, but I like bikes."  
"Cool," Pete glanced across the fire at Beyoncé, "Wanna take a closer look?"  
"Seriously?" Kobra brightened, "For real?"  
"Yeah," Pete nodded, warming to the idea fast, "If you want."  
"Can I, Gee?" Kobra looked at Poison and Pete couldn't help but grin again. Poison was helpless in the face of Kobra's pleading, and the two of them were off to look at Pete’s bike without another look around.  
“So you’re from the city, too.” Kobra muttered once they were away from the others, “That’s cool, growing up in a faction.”  
“I guess,” Pete nodded, “It’s all I really know. I mean, they rescued me when I was young. What about you? City living, do you miss it? You’ve only been out here for about a week.”  
“I was born here,” Kobra admitted, “But I was taken into the city when I was young. Poison and Star, they remember a lot more than I do. They’re a lot happier, here.”  
“Do you miss it, though?” Pete asked again, because Kobra hadn’t really answered his question.  
“I dunno,” Kobra shrugged, “Maybe.”  
“Maybe?”  
“It’s kind of like,” Kobra kneeled, tracing the paint lines on the head of the bike, “I don’t mind either way. I guess, I can feel that I’m from here, but I know the city would keep me safe, too. Either is okay, with me. But my crew is happier out here, so this is where I belong.”  
“That’s…” Pete flopped next to him, wondering if he could connect with that feeling at all. Someone who didn’t feel the pull towards the city, like even Pete did, or towards the desert. His home was where his crew was happy, be it city or desert. “Not as intense as the regular desert born.”  
“I’m not a regular desert born,” Kobra shrugged again before he opened a panel that Pete hadn’t even known was there and started tinkering around. Pete should have been a little bit cautious, and if Beyoncé or Yeezus found out he’d let a stranger fuck around with their bike, his ass would be grass, but he didn’t feel like Kobra was a threat. He felt like a friend, and that was still an unfamiliar instinct in Pete.  
“I like your honesty,” Pete complimented, bobbing his head to the music he could hear playing in the distance. He didn’t know whose fire it was from, but it didn’t really matter.  
“Thanks.” Kobra gave him an odd look, but he didn’t get rid of the smile on his face, so Pete forgave it.  
They fucked around with the bike a little longer, until Pete was called away for his turn on watch and they had to close the panel so he wouldn’t get in trouble. The next day, he almost left Beyoncé and Yeezus in the dust on complete accident.  
He’d be keeping the bike, even after this whole affair was over.  
-  
They talked a lot. Sometimes it was jokes, stupid puns and funny stories they’d picked up around town. They knew a lot of the same places, though they’d never run into each other before, and some of the same people.  
Sometimes, it was more, though.  
“So what’s with the weird thing between you and Yeezus?”  
“Weird thing?” Pete frowned, poking at the fire in front of them, “What do you mean?”  
“I mean, you’re so tense around him. I see you with your bodyguard lady, but it’s different. You’re softer with her. It’s like you can’t let your guard down around him.”  
“That’s because I can’t,” Pete shrugged, “He’s my mentor, and my father. I have to be on my guard every second. Otherwise, I won’t be prepared, and I won’t be ready to take his place when the time comes.”  
“ _Shit_ ,” Mikey shivered, “That sounds too intense for me. Poison is my leader, but he’s family. I know I can trust him with basically anything.”  
“I can,” Pete argued, shaking his head in disagreement, “It isn’t like that. It’s like...okay. He’s my father, right? He raised me, along with my other two...guardians. But, he isn’t _just_ my father. I have two, kind of. One, my other father, he’s like...the soft one, I guess. The one that’s like all the stories about doting parents and shit. He’s great. But Yeezus is...the other kind. He only wants what’s best for me, but he has to think of what’s best for everyone else, too. He’s my mentor, number one. He’s my father, second. I’m his pupil and his apprentice, foremost, and I always need to be ready to defend that. I can’t be...soft, around him. It just isn’t okay,”  
“That’s a lot to handle, Pete. And you said none of the faction will accept you until you prove yourself?”  
“Travie does,” Pete sighed, “And Andy. But Travie’s been my friend since I was rescued, and Andy is a special case. He’s dedicated his life to me, so of course he wants me to succeed. But everyone else...I haven’t proven myself to them. I don’t know how. Yeezus says that proving myself is just finding my voice. I have to show them that I’m like them...that I’m not a monster, because Better Living raised me.”  
“They didn’t raise you,” Kobra scoffed, “They tortured you. How can a whole faction of people be so dumb? Everyone’s lost something to BL. You lost your childhood.”  
 _And my humanity,_ Pete couldn’t help but add. Sandman rolled his eyes at Pete, sticking his tongue out, and Pete tried not to snap his teeth at him. Sandman was still too smug about the Exterminator for Pete to even try to talk to him about it.  
“What more could they take from you? You don’t even get one now, what with training all the time. It sounds to me like they’re all expecting you to be better than they are. A double standard.”  
“A double standard.” Pete hummed, thinking it over. It did feel a little unfair, that he had to _prove_ that Better Living had taken from him. That he was more than just an escaped experiment. If it weren’t for Sandman, would they still think of him as a monster? Would Kobra, if he knew?  
“Enough about me,” Pete demanded, fed up with thinking about it, “Talk to me about you, Kobra Kid.”  
“It’s Mikey,” Kobra corrected, like it was totally normal to just give his name away. It had been, back in the city, but the desert was a different ballgame and even Pete knew that. “It’s Mikey Way. Just call me that.”  
“Alright, Mikeyway,” Pete laughed, leaning forward on his knees to scan the dark horizon in front of them. They were on east watch, looking out for any dust clouds or threats coming from the east. They’d left the Zones behind days ago, but BL was never far behind and it wouldn’t be until the next day that they’d be able to lose them completely. Until then, BL was on top of the list of dangers, but it didn’t make up the list all on its own, and there were other threats to watch out for. “Tell me about yourself. Something you haven’t told me, yet.”  
“It’s a little dangerous,” Mikey drew his legs his chest in a mirror of Pete’s position until they were like reflections of each other, side by side and alone except for the fire and the darkness lurking just beyond it. Poison was with the kids, sleeping in the van, where he could easily calm them when there was trouble, and Jet Star was close to him on the off chance he needed help. Beyoncé and Yeezus were on north watch, some yards away from them. It felt like they were confined to their own space, where they could be open. Pete knew he could tell Mikey anything, and that Mikey could tell him anything, and it would stay a secret until the day they both died. He couldn’t even say that about Andy, who had sworn to protect him from everything, even himself, or Travie, who had to put the good of the faction before the good of Pete. And he sort of felt like Mikey was the same. To Pete, it felt like there were just some things Mikey couldn’t talk to his crew about, because they just wouldn’t understand. Like his feelings on the desert, on where he made his home. Just from the way that Pete could literally see the way that the desert loved Party Poison and the way he loved it in return was proof enough that he just wouldn’t be able to understand where Mikey was coming from. The sand had found a home in Poison’s hair and skin that Pete couldn’t even imagine Mikey feeling, let alone feeling enough to talk about it with anyone else.  
“That’s okay,” Pete shrugged, “I’ve got protection. Tell me something, Mikeyway. Something you don’t want to talk about.”  
“Is this because I asked you about the weird vibe between you and Yeezus?” Mikey raised an eyebrow and Pete only smirked.  
“Well…” Mikey hesitated, biting his lip, “Okay. Um. I don’t like going around the motorbabies.”  
“The motorbabies?” Pete glanced over his shoulder at the van. Even from this distance, he could make out the bright, floozy red of Party Poison, in a mass of children.  
“The motorbabies.” Mikey paused again, licking his lips. Pete could tell that he’d been taken seriously and Mikey was actually trying to articulate something that made him uncomfortable to say out loud. “They...There was this kid, okay? He was kind of weird. He always followed us around. He had a huge kid crush on Poison, and it was kind of recuperated in a non-creepy way. Poison kind of looked after him, from afar, when he could. He had a family, you know? So we didn’t bother really getting to know him. He had people to look out for him, and we didn’t have time for him, what with our own problems. One of his family was a member of The Used crew, but he got stuck in the city like us, and was trying to get out, Noise Control. During the Parade, Shrimp - the kid, he…”  
Mikey trailed off, his voice getting a little choked. Pete leaned against him, and let him work through the knot he knew was forming in his throat.  
“Noise Control and Shrimp’s mom, I think? I think she was his mom. They, um, they were caught behind the gate. Shrimp was on our side, but he, uh, he had to fucking...he fucking watched it, you know? When BL came. They ripped her apart, with fangs and shit. Just...just brutalized them both. Right in front of him. And all I could think was, ‘Thank God it wasn’t us. Thank fucking God it wasn’t Poison and Star behind the gate and me stuck in this fucking sand.’ And I felt so fucking guilty. I felt so fucking guilty because this kid, who trusted us and idolized Poison, he fucking was orphaned and he had to watch it happen right in front of his own fucking eyes. And he couldn’t do _anything_. And his screaming, it still…I can still _hear_ it, you know? If I think about it too much.”  
“Mikey,” Pete got out, gripping his hand, “Mikey, I’m sorry.”  
“For what?” Mikey tried to smile, “It wasn’t me. We all got out. Noise Control, he helped get the kids out. All of them. The two of them, knowing they were gonna fucking die, they still did what they had to. They got the kids out, even though it led to their deaths, or fucking worse. Noise Control begged Poison to keep Shrimp safe, though. He wanted us to get him to The Used. And we did, but then...then, I saw him at the bazaar. And he was alone, carrying these packs. He was alone, and The Used had let him go. He was so _small_ , and he was alone, and it’s because we couldn’t make it safer. We couldn’t find a way out for him and his family. They’re dead and we’re not, and - and,”  
He sobbed, just a little, and Pete pressed his face to Mikey’s shoulder, gave them both a little bit of privacy. He felt Mikey wipe at his face with the hand attached to the arm Pete was leaning against, and tried to dry his own prickling eyes against the tanned leather of Mikey’s vest.  
“Anyway,” Mikey cleared his throat, “He’s out there, somewhere, alone. Probably dead. I dunno. I just know that, if we’d had a way to...a different way out. A way to get out without so much loss, he’d be okay. The motorbabies in that fucking van, they’d have to leave anyway, but when I look at them, I know that each one that came from the Parade lost someone and it was up to us to stop it, but we couldn’t. We couldn’t.”  
Pete felt the stones in his stomach and tried to swallow, “Mikey, I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could have done. I wish I could have opened one of our exits, I wish,”  
“If wishes were fishes,” Mikey nudged him with his elbow, “It’s over now. Besides, you aren’t Yeezus. Not yet, anyway. It wasn’t your decision.”  
“But it will be, one day,” Pete looked down, reached out and filled his fist with sand. It was so tanned during the day, but the firelight and the moon had bleached the color out of it. Against his skin, it was nearly white - stark against the dark of his skin.  
“And you’ll do the right thing.” Mikey shrugged, “I know you wouldn’t let something like that happen, not if you could stop it. You’re a good person, Pete. I can tell these things.”  
“Yeah?” Pete huffed out a smile, trying to keep the irony out of it, “Can you?”  
“I can,” Mikey confirmed, “You think you’re so big and bad, but you aren’t. You’re good. You want to do the right thing. Keeping motorbabies safe, trying to stop as much bloodshed as you can...fighting Better Living, finding your voice, whatever. You’ll do it. I know you will.”  
“That’s a lot of fucking faith,” Pete sighed, letting Mikey link their fingers together. The sand slipped from his palm, between the two of their hands, and back into the vast quantities beneath them. He’d never touch those same grains, as long as he lived, and the thought of that - that he could pick up a handful of sand every hour on the hour for the rest of his life and he’d never touch the same grain twice - made him feel small, somehow. Small, but not so contained.  
“I have it.” Mikey shrugged, “I have to have a lot of faith. It isn’t easy, having Party fucking Poison as a brother. He’s ambitious as fuck, for all that he likes to think he’s just a simple lad with a simple dream.”  
“And what about you?” Pete raised his eyebrow, “What’s your dream?”  
Mikey didn’t answer right away. Pete knew he was thinking, so he let him at it. There was movement in the corner of his eye and he turned his head towards it, borrowed Sandman just long enough to peer into the darkness and make out the eyes of a coyote too far away to cause any trouble.  
“My dream...that one’s hard. I think my dream is just...to see them happy. I want Jet Star to be the best fucking Toro he can be. And I want Poison to reach whatever it is he’s always been reaching for. It’s hard, following him. Sometimes, he asks so much of us, needs so much of our unwavering trust...it always turns out well, for us, though. He’s always on top, in the end. One day, it’ll run out, but not today. So I guess my dream is just that I can be there when they reach theirs. That isn’t too much to ask, right?”  
“Nah,” Pete shook his head, “That’s a good dream. I hope I can get my guys to trust me even half as much as you trust him. He’s a good leader.”  
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mikey teased, looking over his shoulder at his brother, “He’s got a lot to fucking learn. He’s only, like, seventeen...maybe eighteen? Somewhere around there, we kind of lost track. Either way, he’s still coming into his own. Truthfully, you’ve got a lot more maturity than he does, right now. He’s getting better though. Getting his sand legs.”  
“And once he’s got those…”  
“We’ll be fucking unstoppable.” Mikey boasted, “You’ll hear about us all the way in Battery fucking City.”  
“We’d better,” Pete smirked, “Otherwise, how am I supposed to brag about being friends with _The_ Kobra Kid.”  
“Hardy har har,” Mikey elbowed him, “You’re a real smooth talker.”  
“You know me,” Pete laughed. He wondered, just a little, if Mikey knew just how true that was. Four days together, and Pete had told him more than he’d really told anyone before. The only secret he had left to give was Sandman, and he just couldn’t bring himself to give Sandman up. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He didn’t want to risk Mikey.  
“Yeah,” Mikey nodded, “I think I do. And you know me. I think it’ll make life easier, for both of us.”  
“What?”  
“Know that, somewhere, far away in the city, or across the desert, there’s someone who knows us.”  
“Actually,” Pete thought about it. Knowing that, no matter where he was or what he was going through, there was always Mikey, who - at least in this moment - knew everything he was willing to give up. It was comforting. “Yeah, it is.”  
“See?” Mikey smirked, looking up at the stars and tracing a constellation with his ungloved finger, “I told you. I know these things.”  
-  
Mikey was the best friend Pete could have asked for, for the week that they had together. The day that they’d have to separate grew closer, but neither of them wanted to think about it, and so they didn’t. They didn’t mention it, not once. Instead, they focused on being as open as they could, ripping it all out so they were a clean slate when they got home. Pete hadn’t realized just how much he was holding in until Mikey had let him talk, and he didn’t mind being Mikey’s sounding board in return. Just like Mikey had said, the thought that there was someone in the world who knew just what Pete was feeling, just what he was going through, and could _understand_ him, if not exactly what he was feeling, made Pete feel far more stable. Even Sandman wasn’t able to rattle him as much as before.  
But, for all that they avoided the conversation, the day did eventually come. They’d had an extra two days together after the port drop off - a marvel on its own just for the sheerly _awesome_ sight of crystal clear water and boats ready to steal motorbabies away to Australia - but those, too, had to come to an end.  
“This is it, I guess,” Pete got out when the Trans Am had stopped and their bikes had paused so they could all make their goodbyes. They’d be splitting in opposite directions from there, and there was nothing to be done about it.  
“I guess so,” Mikey agreed, trying to keep a strong face. Pete tried to copy him, because Beyoncé would be pissed if he cried here.  
“I,” Pete tried to say, then stopped so he could swallow, “I mean. Thanks. You, um, it was good. I really. It was, it was good.”  
“Yeah,” Mikey nodded, “It was.”  
They grasped hands and shook firmly.  
“Bye, Pete,” Mikey grunted, looking to the side.  
“Bye, Mikey,” Pete nodded. He caught Mikey’s eye, for just a moment, and then they were hugging. Pete didn’t want to let go. When he let go, that would be the end and he’d probably never see Mikey again. He loved Andy and Travie, but neither of them would understand what it was like to fit so unwell into a place that he was _supposed_ to be a part of - not like Mikey could.  
Mikey squeezed him back just as hard, like he felt the same way Pete did, and Pete breathed him in, cemented him in his memory, locked the moment away in the small lock box under his bed to examine when he needed it most. A reminder that he wasn’t as alone as he felt. That someone _knew_.  
But even this had to end and Mikey was pulled away by an apologetic Jet Star far, far too soon for either of them.  
“We’ll see each other again,” Pete nearly demanded, trying for optimism.  
“No, we won’t.” Mikey shook his head, sounding upset.  
Pete didn’t know what to say to that, so he just waved at him a final time and got onto his bike. He traced the place where Mikey had carved his icon into the body, and then took off with Beyoncé and Yeezus. He didn’t want to look behind him, so he didn’t. He wanted to keep the image in his head of Mikey “Kobra Kid” Way. A smile too small for a personality like his and a knowing look in his eyes.  
Under his helmet, he let his eyes tear up - just for a few minutes - because they couldn’t see it and he needed it.  
 _Don’t be a bitch_ , Sandman sighed, patting his shoulder. Pete glared at him through teary eyes.  
 _Shut up_. _You wouldn’t understand._  
 _Look,_ Sandman sighed, _We’re going home. You did the thing you were supposed to. Yeezus and Beyoncé and Jay-Z are gonna be proud, you get to go home, our schedules get to go back to normal, and we get to go back on Stump Watch. You should be happy._  
 _I know._ Pete sighed, _I’m just...it sucks. I really liked hanging out with Mikey._  
 _Kobra Kid,_ Sandman corrected, _Cut the fucking cord, kid. He’s gone now. You’ve got real life to get back to._  
 _Helpful,_ Pete frowned, _Thanks, Sandman._  
 _You’re welcome._  
Pete just shook his head, forced himself back to the real world, and focused on riding. He let the music playing in his ear chase out any important thoughts and tried to calculate how long it would take them to get back to the wall. They’d taken a roundabout way with the caravan, but with the two days of straightforward driving towards the city, he’d guess they’d be home by nightfall, if they made good time.  
With this in mind, he buckled down and let himself float to the music, keeping an eye out for Drac, or Better Living’s other underlings. For hours they traveled, leaving the Carburetor Ports and Kobra Kid and Zones 6 to 3 in the dust. Pete didn’t want to admit it, but he was trying to leave his sadness behind, too. He didn’t want another reason to be upset, on top of all his thoughts and forming opinions on what he thought of himself, his faction, and what - exactly - he considered ‘just good enough’ to not be straight out ‘bad’.  
It was while he was trying to leave those feelings behind, looking out for the jumping color of white against the tans and purple clouds of the desert, that he spotted the t-shirt.  
Half buried in sand, he should have ignored it. He should have just driven past, continued on his way without a second glance because dirty, white t-shirts and sand covered bodies were never conducive to his health, but Pete knew what the right thing to do was and he had Mikey’s faith in him. Just a few weeks ago, he _would_ have driven right past - just like Yeezus and Beyoncé - but, feeling how he now felt, feeling like Mikey had helped him come to understand how someone who really wanted to do what was right felt, he couldn’t.  
He pulled over, some odd feet away from the lump of body and t-shirt under the sand, and watched it for a few seconds. He heard Beyoncé and Yeezus stop, too, but neither called out to him and he paid them little attention, in return. He focused his eyes on the chest of the body instead, trying to see signs of movement, of breathing.  
After what felt like long, long hours that were really only seconds at most, he saw a small, fluttering movement, and gave a small sigh of relief.  
He grabbed his canteen, still full from the morning since he’d been too focused on outrunning his worries to pause for a refreshing sip, and wasted a handful to splash it across the kid’s - and it _was_ a kid, around Pete’s age if he just happened to look older - face.  
He came alive, not with the shattering gasp of breath that Pete was familiar with from near-death victims, but with an almost invisible inhale and shaky exhale, cracking eyes nearly sealed shut with tried sand, blood, and tears.  
“Hey,” Pete said gently, “Are you okay?”  
The kid didn’t respond, verbally, but Pete felt a weak grip on his leg. A finger tapped against his thigh twice, and Pete nodded.  
“I’m going to help you. My name is Pete.”  
The kid closed his eyes again, so Pete held him up by his shoulders and tilted his canteen directly over the kid’s mouth. Some liquid trailed over cracked, sandy lips, but most of it went where it had been intended and the kid made both an agonized, and a pleased, sound in the same breath. He swallowed weakly and Pete let him have just enough that he didn’t think it would make him sick before he pulled it back and capped it. The kid nearly cried out, louder than he’d been even when coming alive again, and Pete took the chance to look him over and check his injuries.  
He was long and thin, like Mikey, but he looked sick and too thirsty for words, and a bandana had been wrapped around his arm - bloody and sandy and tacky with sweat and life fluid. Pete wasn’t even sure how the kid was still alive, because the blood covering him from right wrist to right eye looked to be too much to lose safely.  
Pete didn’t bother asking for permission. He just hitched the kid on his shoulder and dragged him back to his bike. He wasn’t going to be guilty anymore. Mikey trusted that he’d always do the right thing, and Pete was going to start living up to that. Yeezus and Beyoncé didn’t say anything to him, so he settled onto his seat and then situated the new, limp body along his own, pressing the kids chest to his own and wrapping those long fucking legs around his waist to keep the kid balanced. He clung back, weak but there, and Pete made sure he was secure before he kicked off.  
Even through his clothes, Pete could feel that he was feverish, burning up and clammy with sickness. He hoped it wasn’t infection, because even a faction as powerful as the Young Bloods had limited medicinal resources, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he got the fucking kid home.  
“Pete,” Beyoncé voiced through their communications once he had his helmet back on. Yeezus and she were far ahead of him, still going the same speed they’d been traveling at before while Pete had significantly slowed down to avoid adding any injury to his new passenger, “What the fuck are you doing?”  
“I can’t just leave him,” Pete reasoned, “He’ll die.”  
“He’s mostly dead already,” Yeezus scoffed, not sounding all that thrilled about the new addition to their group, “He’s gonna slow us down. At your speed, you’ll be lucky to make it to the wall at all, let alone by nightfall.”  
“I’m not leaving him,” Pete grunted, “You said to find my voice. I’m working on finding it. I won’t leave someone to die, not if I can help them. BL took something from him, too, just like they took something from me.”  
“What’s good for the whole,” Beyoncé sighed, like he knew she would, “Is more important than what’s good for the one.  
“It’s a good thing there are four of us, then.” Pete shot back, knowing he was being difficult. This wasn’t the first time he’d purposefully overlooked their implied orders, but it was probably the most dangerous time he’d done it. They were vulnerable enough as it was, in the middle of unfamiliar territory on nothing but bikes and armed with a ray apiece, and he’d handicapped himself significantly with a dependent clinging to his chest.  
“Suit yourself,” Yeezus sighed, “But if we’re attacked, we aren’t responsible for what happens to him. Or you. It’s all on you, kid.”  
Pete didn’t say anything else. Instead, he focused on not letting the blood soaking into his clothes distract him, and rode.  
-  
 _Sandman had always known that his human was soft. Pete was a special case, a human that hadn’t been able to form his own thoughts when he was young and those brain patterns were still forming. Sandman knew that, and so did Yeezus. Pete had learned, on the other hand, that keeping your eyes closed was the best way to avoid unwanted truths. When he was a child, that had involved attaching himself to Doctor Death Adder like she was his mother. He’d loved her, trusted her and went along with every word she said. Every pain she caused, every wound she gave, every lie she sung, was for his own good. To Subject Zero Zero One, Doctor Addy had been the only thing in the world that had loved him. Her, and Sandman. Even after he’d been kidnapped by the Young Bloods, he’d pined for her and missed her like a child separated from home until Sandman had forced him to really understand what had been happening._  
 _To Sandman, Doctor Death Adder had been the face of Better Living. The face of everything he hated in the world. The mere sight of her could send him into such a rage that he could destroy a whole room - all in the body of a five year old. He’d **hated** her. He still did._  
 _Close to his hate for her, was his hate for Yeezus. Sandman despised Yeezus, and every hypocritical, backhanded ideal he stood for. Yeezus didn’t live with his eyes closed, but he blindfolded every person who followed him. Sandman wouldn’t be blinded by him, not even for some bigger picture where Sandman was ‘free’ and Better Living was gone._  
 _Sandman had always known that his human was soft, that keeping his eyes opened to the facts wasn’t easy for him. It had been Sandman’s job to make sure he wasn’t in danger, make sure he knew what he was getting into when he just went along with their plans._  
 _Sandman hadn’t planned for Mikey Way, though. Somehow, the kid had managed to make Pete look at the way he’d been taught to live, the shit he’d been taught to look over and avoid thinking about, and rethink all of it. It wasn’t that Pete was suddenly doing ‘better’ things than he had before - that he’d stopped to pick up some no-name kid that Sandman couldn’t give less of a fuck about if he tried. It was that Pete had finally realized that he wouldn’t have done it before, because he’d been taught not to._  
 _Sandman didn’t mind being evil. He didn’t have an opinion either way, as long as he got to sate his desires when they made themselves known and that he got to watch the Stump kid that he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was so important about, on whether he and Pete were ‘good’ or ‘bad’. If Pete had decided, on his own and with no one’s input but Mikey Way’s quiet opinion as an outsider, that he wanted to be a good person, Sandman was just pleased that Pete was finally thinking for himself._  
 _It was just a bit of a bonus that ‘thinking for himself’ equated to pissing Yeezus off._  
 _-_  
Luckily for Pete, they weren’t attacked. Something had fucking tickled Sandman and he was too smug for Pete to even bother trying to talk to, and Yeezus and Beyoncé were both ignoring him, so he spend the remaining three hour drive just trying to keep himself and the kid balanced.  
Every few half hours, the kid would start to slip, start to lose his grip on Pete, and Pete would have to stop short and readjust him. He’d lost Beyoncé’s dust cloud once while he’d been tying the kid to him with the tail of his cloak and it had been the only time he’d gone over fifty miles an hour, trying to find her before he got lost. He knew they wouldn’t leave him but, more than likely, they’d wait until he’d abandoned the kid to show themselves again.  
He spotted her nearly half an hour after losing sight, and it was with an intense feeling of relief that he was able to distantly see the wall past her dust cloud. If he squinted, he could even see where Yeezus had pulled far ahead of her, more willing to give up even a slight sense of safety to push his bike as hard as it would go. With Kobra’s readjustments, Pete knew he could probably catch up to him if he hit the red line, but the body in his arms wouldn’t allow it even if Pete _had_ wanted to.  
By the time night fell, he’d stopped three more times, twice to adjust, and once to gulp down some water and force a little more into his new charge’s mouth, too.  
“Come on,” Pete demanded, gently massaging the kid’s throat to get the water down, “Work with me. We’re so close to home, I can feel the concrete calling. Just swallow some of this.”  
The kid made a groaning noise, sounding almost annoyed, but he finally downed the mouthfuls Pete was forcing into him, and Pete could put the canteen back into place and start his bike again. Beyoncé and Yeezus were long past ‘gone’ by the time Pete was able to find their entrance, but they’d left Chilli in their place.  
“Petey!” She waved, looking unsurprised to see his new friend, “Beyoncé said you had a desert dog with you.”  
“Yeah,” Pete nodded, not bothering to get off the bike, “I’m keeping this bike, okay? Personal use, only. Don’t lend it out anymore.”  
“That’s a big decision,” She raised an eyebrow, “As company mechanic, I’m not sure if TLC agrees with it.”  
He pictured Kobra’s face, smiling a little, “Come on, Chilli. Do it for me, just this once. Please?”  
She gave him a hard look, trying to seem firm, but she’d always had a soft spot for him and gave in with a huff, “Ugh, fine. I’ll mark it down. Get the fuck off of it, then, and let me get it back to safe hands.”  
“Thanks, Chilli,” He finally dismounted, after untying himself from the kid, and looked at his situation. “Okay. I’m gonna carry this guy back to base. Help me get him on my back?”  
“Boy, he’s twice your height,” She sighed at him, “You’ll be draggin’ his gangly ass all the way back to HQ, leavin’ a blood trail after you.”  
“ _Please_ , Chilli,” He bit his lip, “This is important. They don’t understand, but I _need_ to do this.”  
“I swear to God,” She muttered, giving in again and coming over to help him haul the kid onto his back. He hooked his arms under the kid’s knees tight, and then had her tie his cloak around their waists again just for extra support.  
“Thanks, Chilli,” He pressed a light kiss to her cheek, “You’re my favorite, don’t tell the others.”  
“We’re _all_ your favorite, when we’re alone.” She raised her eyebrow at him and he gave her his best innocent smile. “Get your ass goin’, Yeezus was pissed enough as it is.”  
“Fuck,” Pete nodded, buckling down, “Wish me luck.”  
“Luck,” She agreed, “You’re gonna need a lot of it.”  
Pete did his best to climb down the ladder and into the tunnel, but he knew she supported him on his way down and covered the hole back up when he was through. Chilli really was too nice to him, sometimes.  
He didn’t have a problem getting through the tunnel, not really. Sandman finally stopped being a smug asshole and helped him carry the kid so Pete didn’t pass out from the over exertion, and they made it to their exit in good time. He knew once he got up the hole that he could easily blend in with the night crowd. It wasn’t a strange sight, two boys their age, looking like they did. The most suspicious thing would be Pete’s cloak, and he could easily pass that off as a sling for his beaten up friend, so that’s what he did. He used the wall to support the kid while he got one hand around the strings and untied them, hooking the cloth under the kid’s ass and tying the ends around his neck instead. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, or secure, but it was the best he could do and it gave the kid enough support to stay on his back while he scaled the ladder and shoved the top off of the hole.  
Breathing in city air after the air in the desert was like a punch in the lungs, but he took it relatively well. The kid, on the other hand, did not, and Pete was almost pulled back into the tunnel by the force of his coughing.  
“Cover your mouth,” He snapped, feeling only a little relief when the kid’s good arm tightened around his shoulders. It meant that he wasn’t just carrying around a dead body, and that some of the weight of before was taken off his back and arms.  
“It’ll be easier to breathe,” He said, a little more gently.  
He was just beginning to wonder if the trip to the base would be as easy as he’d hoped when he spotted the shaggy, brown hair and pierced lip of his favorite person, leaning against the wall of a nearby alley.  
“Use some help?” Andy raised an eyebrow, and Pete sagged with relief.  
“Could I,” Pete agreed, feeling even better when Travie materialized from behind Andy. Maybe one of them could carry _him_ , too. “Can one of you take him for a minute? I need to, like, straighten up.”  
Travie rolled his eyes, hard, but he walked over and - carefully - pulled Pete’s burden from his back and onto his own.  
“I change my mind,” Pete groaned, straightening up and feeling his back nearly sobbing in relief, “You’re my favorite, McCoy. Ten points to you.”  
“Shut the fuck up, Wentz,” Travie scoffed, but he used one of his arms - and fuck him for not needing both to support the person leaning limply on his back and shoulders - to tug Pete into a tight, one-armed hug.  
“Yeah,” Andy frowned, “What the fuck, Wentz. You could have called for help.”  
“I didn’t think about it,” Pete admitted, hugging Travie back and not bothering to pull away until Travie let go first, “Sorry. I was kind of distracted.”  
“Distracted,” Andy shook his fist at Pete angrily, like he just didn’t have the words to say to him, but Pete just laughed and lunged into a hard hug that had Andy squawking and flailing at him.  
“I missed you, too,” Pete grumbled into his shoulder, “Thanks for coming, Hurley.”  
“Shut the fuck up, Wentz,” Andy snapped, shoving him off. Pete could _still_ see right through it.  
Andy took control then, grabbing Pete by the arm and tugging him along after him. Travie followed closely, Pete’s new charge in his line of sight at all times.  
Speaking of charges.  
“Patrick?” Pete asked, yawning, “How’s he?”  
“He’s _fine_ ,” Andy shook his head, “Fucking trouble maker. He was spotted, and they dragged some poor Parader sap all up and down his street. Traumatized the poor fuck. Won’t be going out again, that one. But otherwise, he’s been fine. You can see for yourself, tomorrow.”  
“Yeah,” Pete agreed, rubbing at his face. He’d never been out of the city so long and being back was making him tired. Familiar and comfortable and a warm embrace after an adventure he hadn’t realized he’d be happy to have over. Being away from Travie and Andy hadn’t caused him much distress, but being back with them made him realize just how much he’d missed them. Suppressing his feelings on the matter, or just not realizing how much he loved them until he had them back, or some other thing, Pete didn’t know. He did know, on the other hand, that having Andy know exactly what to do with his injured friend, and having Travie at his back to always support him, helped more than anything to let him lower his guard enough to really relax.  
“Get some rest,” Andy demanded once they’d made it to the base, “Travie and I will get No Name to the infirmary.”  
“Nah,” Pete shook his head, “I need to make sure he’s taken care of. You know how Snoop can be with strangers.”  
“Strangers,” Travie sighed, “That man is hard on us and we’re his fucking faction.”  
“Exactly,” Pete agreed, ignoring the look Andy threw Travie’s way, “I’ll just go make sure he’s settled in and then I’ll rest. Promise.”  
Andy knew, just from the look on his face, that he was serious about the kid and wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon barring a Patrick-related emergency or an order from Beyoncé, Yeezus, or Jay-Z, so he sighed and motioned for Travie to start walking.  
When they made it to the infirmary, Beyoncé was already sitting on one of the tables they’d repurposed for medical use. She’d had a run in with a literal coyote and, while it hadn’t caused much damage, Yeezus had demanded a rabies shot when they got home.  
“Pete,” She raised an eyebrow, “How’s the kid?”  
“Just like he was,” Pete answered with a shrug, “Snoop? Can I get some attention for my new friend?”  
“New friend?” Snoop raised an eyebrow, flicking the toothpick in his mouth to the other side of his lips before he patted at one of the empty tables, “Set that shit down, and let Daddy Snoop take a look.”  
Travie hauled his burden to the table without needing to be asked and, carefully, laid the kid down.  
“Shit!” Snoop exclaimed the second he got an actual look at him, “What the fuck happened to him? Did he get himself caught on the nail from hell?”  
“I dunno,” Pete offered, “I found him half buried in the desert. Anything you can do for him, doc?”  
“I can try,” Snoop offered, “But don’t get your hopes up, Sandy. He’s hangin’ tough, but that little scratch of his has lost him more blood than I can give him from the rations.”  
“Just get him stable,” Beyoncé sighed, “If Pete’s taken an interest in him, something might be up with him.”  
“I’ll do my best, lady.” Snoop agreed, settled onto a stool and snapping. One of his apprentices slid a tray over to him quickly, full of stolen supplies from this old hospital or that BL site and medical instruments that made Pete’s skin crawl when he looked at them. Half-forgotten memories always tried to surface when he caught glances at them, so he forced his eyes to stay away from the shine of them in the dim light.  
“Someone get me the spotlight, and a rag,” Snoop demanded after a few minutes of snipping clothing off of the kid. He threw a glance over his shoulder at them and made a ‘get out’ta here’ noise with his tongue. “I’ll call you when I either save him or give up.”  
“Thanks, Snoop.” Pete let Andy smother him towards the door, “You’re the best.”  
“You say that to everyone,” Snoop rolled his eyes, but he still bent down to start swiping and cleaning the wounds on Pete’s new kid.  
Beyoncé followed the three of them out, looking not at all like she’d just been in a long, hard journey across sand and coyote territory.  
“You’re taking on too much,” She commented as she passed them, pausing to settle a hand in Pete’s hair. It was a fond touch, always made him feel both grounded and looked after, and she only did it when they were alone or, rarely, when people like Andy or Travie were around. People they both could trust to keep a secret.  
“I’m trying something out,” Pete shrugged, looking up at her through his bangs, shoved across his face by her hand, “A new me.”  
“A new you, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you think two to a body is good enough without trying to change up one of ‘em?”  
Pete shrugged. Maybe it was kind of useless, or didn’t make sense to anyone else, but having to look Mikey in the eye - look at the tears trying to come and having to admit that he might have been able to prevent that, prevent some of the tragedy that people who weren’t as lucky as him had to go through, but just _hadn’t_ wasn’t something he ever wanted to do again.  
“I’m gonna force him to sleep, now. You should probably rest, too, Beyoncé.” Andy frowned, crossing his arms. He gave Pete a stern look when Pete grinned at him.  
“Just goin’ now,” Beyoncé agreed, “Thanks for concern. We’ll be back to schedule tomorrow, so be ready.”  
“I will be,” Andy promised, “Good night.”  
“‘night,” Travie waved, grinning at her a little smittenly. Most of the soldiers had something going on for Beyoncé, because she was _Beyoncé_ , but Pete was half prepared for Travie to start singing _Stacy’s Mom_ at him at any moment.  
Beyoncé smiled at them and was off, her hand leaving Pete’s hair and her fingertips playing with the longest strands before she was gone.  
“Okay,” Andy frowned again, “You said you wanted the kid with Snoop, he is now with Snoop. You go to your room and _sleep_.”  
“Don’t you want to hear about my adventure?” Pete pouted at him, but Travie had already wrapped an arm around Pete’s shoulders and was steering him towards the hallways leading to his room.  
“Not right now.”  
 _Besides,_ Sandman broke in, _we had a deal, Pete._  
 _I know,_ Pete sighed, _At least let me get to my room before you go off. I don’t understand your fascination with killing._  
 _You wouldn’t,_ Sandman agreed, _Your poor, human heart could never understand._  
 _Just until sunrise,_ Pete reminded, _And then it’s back to my room. I don’t want to wake up the whole compound because you get caught covered in blood. They’ll think I murdered a soldier or something._  
 _With that attitude, I just might._ Sandman muttered, but Pete could feel that he was teasing. At least, mostly teasing.  
-  
Pete was woken up by Snoop’s latest favorite, a cute motorbaby barely old enough to carry the medical tools named Nate.  
“Pete, Pete!” Nate knocked against Pete’s door with fists too tiny to make too much noise. If Pete hadn’t still been on a desert sleeping schedule - that is, sleeping so lightly that shifting of the sand would wake you up on well past alert - he wouldn’t have noticed it.  
“Hmgh?” He grunted, lifting his head from the pillow. He could taste blood in his mouth and pretended that he’d bitten his tongue in his sleep instead of what the fuck ever Sandman had done to get the taste of blood behind his teeth.  
“It’s the kid!” Nate called, stopping his knocking, “Snoop says he has to see you immed’atly!”  
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Pete finally got words to work, sitting up and shoving his feet into the muddy shoes at the end of the bed. He still had pants on, dirty and slightly blood stained, but Sandman had at least removed his shirt so he didn’t stretch it out too much while he slept. He grabbed the nearest shirt he could and then was out of the room, following Nate’s short legs towards the medical rooms.  
He could have overtaken Nate at any time, but he was still regaining his confidence after the attack and Pete didn’t want to make him feel bad about not being able to move as fast as him. His scars were looking better, Snoop had done a good job, and he was energetic and talkative as they walked, telling Pete about the different patients he’d missed while he was gone and the latest this-or-that that had gone down while he was in the infirmary with Snoop.  
Pete listened as best he could, because Nate talked fast and quiet and there were awkward pauses when the skin pulling around his mouth hurt too much. The scar across his face was still healing, stitches dark against the mauled flesh, but Pete could see that it was improving, a bit paler than it had been when he left. It was going to purple soon, the scar tissue forming until the stitches could be removed and the skin could be left to stay together on its own. For a long time, Pete hadn’t been sure Nate would make it, would die like his siblings had, but Snoop had been at his side every day, making sure he was safe from infection and getting what he needed to stay up while his body healed. Now, he was like most of the other kids that ran around the building, full of energy and laugher. Pete could still remember, though, what he’d looked like before the attack, and the kind of smile that used to brighten his whole face. His hands weren’t steady anymore, and he wouldn’t ever be able to handle the tools he needed to, to continue as Snoop’s apprentice. Pete would try to get him into cooking, soon, to see if he could convince Nate to go into the kitchens before he found out that he wouldn’t be able to stay in his place.  
“And then Snoop said your boy was like me!”  
“Like you?” Pete raised an eyebrow, letting Nate take his hand and swing his arm as hard as he could, “What do you mean?”  
“Snoop said the Cobra bots got him, too! So now, if he wakes up, he’ll look like me!”  
He sounded too excited for Pete to try to navigate that, so he only nodded.  
Nate let go of his hand and opened the door when they got to it, revealing the dreary gray walls and tables with the same amount of fanfare that a room made of pure gold would be paid.  
“I brought him, Snoop!”  
“Good job, little dude,” Snoop commented, elbows deep in a bucket of soapy water, tinged pink. “Got some news for ya’, Sandy.”  
“Good new, I hope,” Pete looked around until he spotted the table he was looking for, filled by the worryingly prone, sweating body of the boy Pete had worked so hard to keep alive.  
“Maybe,” Snoop shrugged, sitting up so he could dry his hands on the dirty, thin towel Nate offered him, “Depends. He was attacked by Cobras, I don’t even know how he’s alive right now. The venom should have cut off his breathing hours ago.”  
“Did you give him the anti-venom?” Pete frowned, sitting on a stool and rolling it to the kid’s side. He was too sweaty, skin a pallid tone that didn’t look healthy at all, emanating heat like a furnace. His chest was barely moving but every time it did, a painful rasp escaped his lips.  
“It’s too late for that,” Snoop shrugged, “It’d be useless, now. He’s in a lot of fuckin’ pain, let’s just leave it at that. I’d say we should mercy kill him, but Andy said you’d have a conniption if you came back and found out. You got him here about...four hours after the attack, I’d say, but we didn’t have the anti-venom on hand until about three hours ago. ”  
“Mercy kill him?” Pete shook his head, “No way.”  
“Pete,” Snoop frowned, “It’s a _mercy_ kill. Even if he survives, his muscles are fucked. He’ll be lucky if he can see out of his right eye ever again, let alone any time soon. That’s not even to mention the fuckery that went down on that arm of his.”  
Pete looked away from Snoop and back to the kid, watching him seriously.  
 _What do you think?_ Pete asked, nudging at Sandman. Sandman rolled over in his bed, giving Pete the bird and shoving his face into his pillow much like Pete had when Nate had knocked on his door.  
 _Seriously,_ Pete frowned, _What should I do? It’d probably be better if I just put him out of his misery._  
 _If you were going to do the easy thing, you wouldn’t have fuckin’ saved him,_ Sandman spat, acid in his voice. It was muffled by the pillow though, and that took most of the venom from it.  
 _Yeah, but would he even want to wake up? Wouldn’t it be easier to just die unconscious? Maybe I shouldn’t have saved him._  
Sandman sighed, because he knew he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep until Pete was appeased. _Look. You saved him, He didn’t want to die. Deal with your own shit, Pete._  
 _But what if I only saved him so I could think of myself as a better person?_ Pete frowned, _Maybe letting him die was what was good for him. The desert’s rules are there for a reason._  
 _Did he look like he wanted to die?_ Sandman glared, his hair poofed up and messy with sleep. Pete wondered if the Sandman _he_ saw in his head would still manage to scare the shit out of so many people.  
 _Well_ , Pete shuffled, thinking, _The way he gripped me...he was fighting. The whole time we were driving, he was trying to stay up so he wouldn’t fall._  
 _And what the fuck do you think it means that he’s spent **hours** in what is undoubtedly too much pain to even say out loud, fighting through it?_  
Pete bit his lip, sitting on the edge of the bed, _So you think I should keep him alive._  
Sandman rubbed his face, the black makeup covering skin not even smudging a little under his clawed hand. _Do you remember how fucked up we were when they took us from Linda Vista?_  
 _Pretty fucked up,_ Pete nodded, playing with his fingers.  
 _Do you remember how fucking long it took us to even be able to **walk**_ _properly? We didn’t even know any words beyond what Death Adder had deemed it necessary for us to know._ _Would it have been a mercy killing to put us out of our misery?_  
Pete nodded slowly, thinking about it, _I see your point._  
 _Besides,_ Sandman laid his face back into the pillow, just barely understandable to Pete because they shared a head, _What kind of mercy is it to shoot a guy who broke his legs? He can still crawl. If he wants to fight through all the pain and shit, let him crawl._  
Pete blinked and he was back in the infirmary. Nate was shaking his knee but Snoop yanked Nate away from Pete before instinct took over and Pete did something he’d regret. He didn’t like being touched while he was with Sandman, and the people he was close to knew that.  
“Leave him,” Pete took the rag from the small bucket next to the bed and gently wiped the sweat from the kid’s brow, “He’s going to live.”  
“If he does, he won’t be…” Snoop argued, “He won’t be...like anyone else.”  
“He’ll be like Nate,” Pete pointed out, “And Nate’s just fucking fine. Aren’t you, Nate?”  
“I’m just fucking fine!” Nate agreed, smiling bright with a gap in his teeth that made Pete want to bend over backwards for him. “He’ll be like me, Snoop!”  
Snoop didn’t say it out loud, but Pete heard the words. _Nate isn’t normal, Pete. He’ll never be able to fight._  
“And what will you tell Yeezus?” Snoop frowned, “He’s going to be a liability, Pete.”  
“He’s going to be mine.” Pete shrugged, “No more arguing about it. Yeezus wants me to find who I am as a leader? This is it. I’m the kind of leader that doesn’t abandon some kid in the sand because he won’t be useful to me in the long run.”  
“That’s not a smart leader,” Snoop crossed his arms, “What’s good for the whole isn’t -”  
“What’s good for the whole can fuck itself.” Pete snapped, “I’m sick and tired of that fucking phrase! All it is is an excuse! Helping this kid isn’t going to do fuck all for Better Living! If it’s that big a deal, cut my rations in half and give the other half to him!”  
“Pete,” Snoop commanded, voice severe, “You know that ain’t right.”  
“All I know,” Pete forced his muscles to relax, “Is that over a hundred people died in that fucking Rebellion, and if we’d offered to help, a lot of them would still be alive. All I know is that I helped escort over thirty kids stuffed into a single van on a two week journey and almost all of them had been orphaned because we didn’t do anything to help. Yeezus and Beyoncé went right past this kid, not slowing for a single fucking second, because helping him wasn’t going to help us. I’ll admit it,” He waved a hand, “I’ll admit it, Snoop. The Young Bloods are successful because we’re cut throat. I know what we are. We fight Better Living, because we want a _real_ better tomorrow, and paint has to be used up to get the bigger picture on the wall.”  
He stopped, reached out and touched the kid’s hand. When he wrapped his fingers around the kid’s, he felt pressure. The hand, squeezing back, as hard as it could. If he hadn’t been feeling for it, he wouldn’t have even noticed.  
“But that’s not how I want to live. That’s not how I want to lead.”  
Snoop stared at him, shocked. Nate looked between them, a little scared.  
“What if Nate’s brother hadn’t been one of ours?” Pete asked quietly, “You know what would have happened.”  
Nate would have been left there. Trapped between the bodies of his brother and sister, bleeding and filled with too much Cobra bot venom to even feel the fucking ground meat his lower face had become through the burning agony of acid in his veins.  
Snoop pulled Nate to his hip, spidery fingers clenching in the hand-me-down shirt, still slightly stained with his brother’s blood on the back.  
“That feeling in your blood, Snoop?” He twisted back to the kid and pushed dark hair from a sweaty, hot forehead. “I don’t ever want to be numb to it.”  
Snoop didn’t say anything back, so Pete continued to tend, wiping at sweat and cleaning the last of the blood from around the clean, neat stitching along the gash left behind by the bots’. It started at the kid’s eye, thin where it rested _just_ far away enough from the patched eye that it hadn’t ripped the eye socket, but growing wider and much, much worse as it dragged away from the beginning of it’s path across tanned skin. It followed a downward journey, ripping the cheek open, curving under the jaw and managing to avoid the major danger zones of the throat, becoming shallow again in the space between neck and collarbone, only to deepen intensely from shoulder meat to inner elbow. The skin looked almost flayed, burned from the acid the Cobra bots liked to spray along with their venom when they spit. It was a long wound, and Pete was almost surprised, though he knew he really shouldn’t have been, that the kid had survived. He was a fighter. Even now, his small, pained gasps for air into his partially paralyzed lungs showed Pete that he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live, so Pete would give him the chance to.  
“Fine,” Snoop finally muttered, “No fuckin’ mercy killin’.”  
“Thanks,” Pete smiled, but he didn’t turn to look. Better to let Snoop sulk in peace a little, before he tried asking for where he’d set the disinfectant cream. It had already been obviously slathered onto the wound, and left to air out before it was covered. Acid wounds never reacted well to being covered so they would allow the cream to work its way into the actual gash while the acid burns cooled off before it would be covered with a thin gauze.  
Travie joined him, after a fashion, and Pete realized that he’d spent most of the day in the medical room, losing track of time while he tended to his newest adoption.  
“Your shift,” Travie reminded him, “Andy’s there now, but he’s due with Beyoncé soon.”  
“Shift?” Pete looked up, rag still in hand, “For what?”  
“Don’t tell me you actually managed to forget Stump,” Travie raised an eyebrow, “Really?”  
“Shit,” Pete stood up quickly, sending the stool back a few paces, “Shit, it’s my shift? But I,” He looked back at the kid. He was half afraid that, once he left, Yeezus would send someone to get rid of him while Pete was out. Everyone knew he always ran overtime when he was on watch for Patrick.  
“Don’t worry,” Travie sighed, “I’ll watch over him.”  
“Really?” Pete started to smile, “You don’t mind?”  
“What better things do I have to do?” Travie sighed, settling onto the stool, “Get going, you know Andy doesn’t like waiting.”  
“You’re my favorite,” Pete dug his hand into Travie’s bushy hair and scrubbed, “My absolute favorite.”  
“Just get out of here,” Travie pointed at the door. Snoop had left a few minutes earlier to find some grub and Nate was sleeping on a bed in the corner. There were other medics, but they were in other rooms, watching over other patients or taking care of small ailments that could be easily cured with little effort.  
Pete got out of there. He could feel Sandman waking up, growing steadily more excited as the two of them made their way out of the building and into the streets.  
 _They better have taken care of him,_ Sandman grunted, sitting up for real and stretching out.  
 _I’m sure they’ve done the best they can,_ Pete smiled, _I mean. It’s Patrick, after all._  
 _Stump or no,_ Sandman glowered, _He was to be top priority._  
Pete didn’t bother trying to argue. It would be a hollow argument, coming from him, after all.  
Andy was in their usual spot, crouching with a book in hand and a careful eye on the screen. They’d set a camera both across the street from the Stump residence, and in the alley that Patrick liked to use to sneak out, but apparently the alley had been unused since Patrick had been caught in the Black Parade Rebellion. It wasn’t really _interesting_ , watching while Patrick was at home, but it was probably exactly what Pete needed right then. Just quiet, alone, and making sure that his single responsibility was safe from harm.  
“Hey, Andy,” Pete announced, voice low but audible for Andy - who was obviously waiting for him.  
“Pete,” Andy sighed, standing up and stretching out, “Thank God. How you manage to pull double shifts, I don’t even know.”  
“Sandman wants a turn,” Pete grinned, “Two minds, two shifts, I think is the phrase.”  
“There is literally no one else that has an artificial intelligence locked inside their heads, Pete. That isn’t a phrase.”  
“Don’t be a party pooper.” Pete scoffed, patting Andy’s shoulder and sitting down, “Besides, Sandman isn’t an AI.”  
“Of course he isn’t,” Andy sighed, “He’s a special snowflake from space.”  
 _Fuck you,_ Sandman snapped, but Pete just smiled widely at him.  
“He says he loves you,”  
“I just adore you, too, Sandman.” Andy crossed his arms and produced his ever present clipboard, “I’ll be back in eight hours, then. When Sandman takes over, try to get some sleep. I know watching Stump’s window is just _riveting_ , but you’ve got actual duties to get to. Ones’ you’ve put off for a whole day now, so it’s all backlogged.”  
“Sorry,” Pete smiled a little, “I’m just watching the kid. Thanks for stopping Snoop from killing him.”  
“Not the first time I’ve saved a life for you,” Andy smiled a little. He hesitated, then settled down next to Pete. “Why’d you pick that kid up, anyway? He was barely breathing when he got here, I can’t imagine what made you think he would make it.”  
Pete hesitated. Andy wasn’t the first person to question him about the kid. In fact, he wasn’t even in the first five to do so. But he was the first one to ask that didn’t make it seem like an attack. Andy didn’t question Pete often. Truthfully, Andy was the only person Pete knew, without a doubt, would follow Pete into Better Living’s HQ without a single protest - well, without a single protest after Pete had made it clear that he wasn’t changing his mind. Him asking Pete meant that Pete really had thrown him for a loop. Eventually, Pete would have to stop scaring Andy half to death and then expecting him to just bounce back without an effort.  
“I met someone,” Pete finally answered, eyes falling to the screen. He doubted he’d actually get a glimpse of Patrick tonight but, if he was lucky, Patrick would choose tonight to play a little of his guitar. If it was a _really_ lucky night, Patrick might _sing_.  
“Someone?” Andy raised an eyebrow so Pete shrugged and started talking.  
He talked about Kobra Kid, first. Described him, tall and lanky with skin not tan but not city pale either and hair newly bleached with just the hints of dark roots. He wore glasses, when they weren’t working, thick frames and sturdy glass, and a jacket made for the desert. His voice was soft, kind of nasally and hard to get a grip on, but once Pete had really settled it into Mikey’s face, it had fit like a glove.  
He talked about Kobra Kid’s crew too, Jet Star with his big, bushy hair and his kind eyes, bright and alive when Pete snuck him to his bike to take a look. Jet Star had big arms, arms that looked ready to crush Pete’s head at any moment, but he had a contagious laugh and he liked playing tag with the kids, chasing them and being chased around fire and van and bike and car. Party Poison and his harlot red hair, his tanned skin, and the way the desert loved him like he was literally born out of the Sand and Sun. He told Andy about the way Kobra liked to talk, like he actually believed that life could be different one day. Like he actually thought that a better tomorrow was actually achievable.  
“Poison filled his head with all this shit,” Pete tried to scoff, but he couldn’t help the smile. “I mean, who actually thinks they can save the whole world?”  
Andy sighed, shaking his head. “So you’re telling me that you fell in love with a boy you met in the desert and he convinced you to change your world view.”  
“Um,” Pete hesitated, “That’s kind of melodramatic, Andy.”  
“You literally are melodrama.” Andy shook his head, trying not to smile. “Only you would go out into the desert and have a fucking epiphany like that. So, what, you’re going to rescue every kid you come across? We’ll run out of supplies in no time, Pete.”  
“We’ll figure something out. Listen, Andy,” Pete leaned over, like Andy wasn’t the only person within hearing distance. He lowered his voice, “I’m planning some...changes. I don’t think they’re changes Yeezus would like, but…”  
“But you’re gonna do it anyway.” Andy rubbed his face, “Changes like _what_ , Pete?”  
“Changes like opening a fucking station for motorbabies.”  
“Motorbabies?” Andy narrowed his eyes, “Station?”  
“I mean,” Pete looked around, “I mean that I’m going to use one of the holes in the wall to escort groups of motorbabies to the convoy. We’ll use the holes for now and, once it’s safe to use the tunnels, we’ll move them directly into the desert through the tunnel system.”  
“Pete, you know the tunnel system won’t be renovated that far. It’ll take years after we move into the base before we can use those tunnels and the one we use now’ll be detonated since it leads directly to the base.”  
“Yeah,” Pete shrugged, “We’ll find something. Until then, I’m going to set up details to get groups out. Maybe we can keep them for a while, set them up with the basic education, send them on their way. I’m not really sure yet, I’ve still got a lot of thinking to do on it. It’s going to be awhile before we can do this, so don’t stress about it. Just, like, be aware, I guess.”  
“Just...be aware,” Andy repeated, sounding just devastated, “Pete, I swear to God, your head.”  
“I know it’s a big deal,” Pete defended himself, “And I’ve put a lot of thought into it! I mean, look at us, Andy. Maybe...maybe the reason we’re just stuck surviving, not losing against BL but not winning either, is because all of us are so stuck on only protecting our own. Just imagine if all of these stupid factions worked together, Andy. We’d be unstoppable.”  
“Pete, that’s impossible.” Andy took his hand, “The factions have never worked together. We can barely stand each other.”  
“And that’s got to change,” Pete squeezed back, “It’s a...big plan. Kind of out there, I know.”  
He spoke over Andy’s spluttered, “ _Kind of out there_!?”, patting his hand reassuringly.  
“But I know I can do it. As long as I have you behind me, and Travie. Are you with me, Andy?”  
Andy tried to hold back, give at least the appearance that he didn’t do everything Pete asked and more, but he didn’t hold out for long.  
“You’re a fucking idiot,” He seethed, snatching his hands away, “But I’m with you. You know I’m with you, even if you’re plans are stupid and crazy and impossible.”  
“Thanks, Andy,” Pete grinned, relieved. He knew his plans were...strange. But he was confident they could be achieved, as long as he had Andy and Travie by him.  
“I’m leaving, before you spring anything else on me,” Andy narrowed his eyes again, pointing at Pete, “Don’t think of anymore plans while I’m gone.”  
“No more,” Pete promised, hand on his heart. His fingers were crossed.  
 _Growing some balls, I see._ Sandman chimed in, lounging across his bed like it was a throne, _And what will dear old daddy think of these plans when you try to implement them into his careful, safe little faction?_  
 _Which dad?_ Pete hedged, _The one who always supports my hare-brained schemes, or the one that’ll string me up and whip me if he finds out I’m thinking about undermining his authority like that?_  
 _Don’t be dramatic,_ Sandman rolled his eyes, _I doubt he’d **whip** you. Now, stringing you up…_  
 _Don’t even joke,_ Pete groaned, _Stringing me up means you go up, too._  
Sandman just laughed, so Pete settled in to watch the screen. Watching out for Patrick would settle him and give him time to think and, after the kind of last few days he’s had, that wouldn’t be so bad.  
-  
The kid didn’t wake up properly for three days. Pete was there, though, when he did finally open his eye, the other still taped shut in the hopes that the solution Snoop had been able to clear the venom out with would do its job given enough time. Travie was there too, and, with a ten minute heads-up due to the many twitches and noises he made as he slowly woke himself up from the deep sleep he’d been in for a while, the two of them had managed to clear out the non-essentials so the room wouldn’t be crowded when he got a good look at the place.  
Pete was almost worried that it had been a false alarm, that he’d jumped the gun and his charge was just gaining a little bit of strength, until the uncovered eye had finally cracked open and the kid had tried to sit up.  
“Hey,” Pete stopped him, gentle hands on his shoulders carefully forcing him back down, “Don’t. You’re definitely not strong enough for that.”  
The kid looked at him blearily, eye watery from the sudden shock of air. He opened his mouth but shut it again just as quickly. Pete didn’t need the words to know what the kid wanted.  
“My name’s Pete,” He offered, “This is my friend, Travie. Do you remember what happened to you?”  
He opened his mouth again and almost seemed to forget that he’d done so. After what seemed to be whole minutes to Pete, he closed his jaw and swallowed slowly.  
“Water?” Pete asked, “You want water?”  
The kid nodded, just slightly, and Pete turned to grab the sack he’d had waiting for just such an occasion, but Travie had beaten him to it.  
Travie held the opening to the kid’s lips and let him drink, careful not to give him too much, too fast. He pulled the bag away too early for the kid and he nearly tried to sit up again to get it back but Pete stopped him again.  
“Hey, don’t worry,” Pete tried to sooth, wanting to avoid the incoming panic he could already see beginning to form, “You’ll get plenty of water. You haven’t been awake for three days, though, and you were severely dehydrated by the time we got you here. You have to go slow, okay? A little at a time.”  
Travie tilted the sack back, just to show that Pete was telling the truth, and let the kid drink a little more before he took the sack back again.  
“Thanks, Travie,” Pete patted his arm, “But, seriously. Do you remember what happened?”  
“I,” He licked his lips, wetting them, “I fought a cobra.”  
“A Cobra bot?” Travie frowned, “You fought one directly?”  
“No,” The kid shook his head, voice cracked and slow. “ _Cobra,_ ” he emphasized, a Spanish accent marking the words, “My family fought the Cobra bots. While I was in the desert, I fought a _cobra._ ”  
“I didn’t see any snake tracks when I found you,” Pete hesitated, “And Snoop didn’t find any bites from an actual cobra,”  
“I fought it,” The kid insisted, “And I won, so I lived. _El cobra_ gave me a choice,”  
“Pete,” Travie muttered, glancing away from their charge to give him a look, “Your kid is crazy.”  
“I’m not crazy,” The kid snapped, “I know what I saw, and I saw the cobra and it told me that if I fought it and won, I could live, and if I lost than I would die.”  
“And you won, huh?” Pete leaned back in his chair and smiled a little, “I get you, kid. He isn’t crazy, Travie.”  
The kid gave him a suspicious look, only slightly appeased. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”  
“I’ve been there before,” Pete shrugged, “The place where you have to choose to live or die. I had to face a monster, you had to face a cobra. Not so different, right?”  
“R-right,” The kid hesitated, “Can I sit up now?”  
Travie glanced over his shoulder and nodded, “Yeah, I think you can. Let me help you.”  
Pete watched Travie shove a few stained blankets behind the kid’s back, helping him sit up comfortably so he didn’t put any unnecessary pressure on his chest.  
“Better?”  
“Yeah,” The kid looked at his lip, “Thanks.”  
“So, kid,” Pete leaned forward, watching him intently, “What’s your name?”  
“Name?” The kid frowned, “Why?”  
“I saved your life,” Pete raised an eyebrow, feeling the small spark of interest that the kid had ignited back in the sand flare up into something brighter, “Shouldn’t I know your name?”  
“I -” The kid paused, “That was you?”  
“You remember?” Pete crossed his arms on the table, “You were practically dead, kid.”  
“I remember…” The kid twisted his fingers together in the thin blanket over his lap, “I remember fighting. I was fighting _so hard_ , but I was so...so weak. I was losing and all I could see was the bright light, telling me that my time had come, _el cobra_ had won. But then, I blinked, and suddenly...there was a figure. It held me and gave me life and told me that I was going to win. And I did.”  
Pete shifted, “Um. It was more like, I found you and dumped some water on you and told you I was going to help you. But I guess your way works, too.”  
“You helped me defeat the cobra,” The kid leaned forward and covered Pete’s hands with his, “You gave me life.”  
Pete tried to pull away. This was going in a direction very, very far from where Pete had been trying to lead it. He’d just wanted to know the kid’s name.  
“Not really,” He tried to deny, but the kid shook his head at him.  
“You did. You saved my life and so it belongs to you.”  
“What?” Pete tried, turning to give Travie a wild look. Travie just held up his hands, and Pete knew he was alone. What if this kid was like another Andy? Pete _loved_ Andy, but he couldn’t handle two of them.  
“It’s customary,” The kid explained, “It’s how it works in my culture. My name is Gabe.”  
“Gabe,” Pete squeezed his hands carefully, “You don’t have to swear your life to me, or whatever. I was just being nice.”  
“Nice,” Gabe agreed, “And now I’m going to be nice to you. It isn’t often that a Saporta ties themselves to an outsider like this.”  
“Outsider?” Pete frowned, interrupted by Travie’s choked out, “ _Saporta_?”  
“Yes,” Gabe nodded, shifting just slightly and wincing. He lifted an arm with effort and pressed his palm to his chest, not exerting pressure, but just feeling.  
“Your lungs were paralyzed.” Pete explained, pushing away the questions that Gabe’s last statement at brought up, for the moment, “It’s probably still hard to breath. The venom would have worn off by now, but your chest is still fragile after the workout you put it through. That cobra sure made you fight.”  
“Yeah,” Gabe nodded, “It did. Thanks for saving me.”  
“You didn’t look like you wanted to die,” Pete shrugged, “And you fought it all yourself. The most we could do was clean out your eye and hope we saved it.”  
Gabe lifted his hand and pressed it to the patch of bandages over his eye, resting finger tips against recently washed bandage. “You did this?”  
“Snoop did,” Pete shook his head, “I mean, I was here when he did it, but I’m no...What’s the word you guys call them? Bones. I’m no Bones.”  
“Bones.” Gabe licked his lips. He took another look at Pete, then Travie, and then the room he was in. His hands clenched in the blankets. “I’m not in the desert.”  
“No,” Pete shrugged, “I found you on my way back to the city, so I took you with me.”  
“You took me out of the desert,” Gabe clarified.  
“Yes.”  
Gabe sighed, bone weary and _sad_ , but nodded. “It’s to be expected, I guess. I can’t exactly work for you if I’m there and you’re here.”  
“Work for me,” Pete rubbed his head, “Dude, I told you. You don’t work for me. This isn’t a debt to be repaid.”  
“Pete,” Travie elbowed him, “Can I talk to you.”  
“Ow!” Pete whined, leaning away from, “Travie!”  
“Now, Pete.” Travie hissed, standing. He gave Gabe a quick glance, “We’ll be right back.”  
“Right.” Gabe nodded, leaning back against the wall.  
Travie took a firm grip of Pete’s sleeve, and pulled. He was insistent, enough that Pete didn’t try too hard to get away until Gabe had disappeared behind the door and Travie had pressed him against the opposite wall.  
“Travie, what the fuck,”  
“You’re so fucking _stupid_ ,” Travie pushed him back against the wall, “How do you not know who the fucking _Saportas'_ are!?”  
“What the hell do you mean!?” Pete shoved him back but Travie towered over him, even at nearly two years younger than him and didn't even bothering to pretend Pete was a challenge.  
"The Saportas'," Travie gritted out, "Are _assassins_ , Pete.”  
“Um,” Pete stopped trying to shove Travie back, “What?”  
“You,” Travie got out, squeezing Pete’s shoulders, “Brought a fucking _assassin_ in _base_ ,”  
“Oh,” Pete got out, weakly. “I, um...I didn’t know?”  
“You didn’t _know,_ ” Travie nearly cried, “You didn’t _know_!? Beyoncé is going to kill you! Forget that, _Yeezus_ is going to kill you! You have no idea how trained that kid is! How have you never heard of them!?”  
“Because when was the last time I had a ‘ _know your assassins_ ’ class!?” Pete snapped, “Lower your voice!”  
Travie dropped into a dark whisper, “The Saporta family are mercenaries. They work for _anyone_ that gives them the money to do it. They really only run in Zone 1, so that should fucking _show you_ that they’re fucking _insane_!”  
“Well, what do you want me to do!?” Pete threw his hands up, “He’s already here!”  
“Get him out!”  
“How!?” Pete glared, “I’ve already brought him here! He isn’t healed enough to stand up, let alone survive all alone in the city, and he’s my responsibility now. He’s all alone, Travie. I can’t just abandon him.”  
“He could _kill you_ ,” Travie rubbed his face, “Do you get that, Pete? The Saportas’ are fucking nightmares. Soldiers tell _stories_ about them to scare the newbies. One of them wouldn’t know loyalty if it bit them on the ass!”  
“He’s my responsibility,” Pete repeated firmly, “I won’t abandon him.”  
Travie rubbed his face harder, making the skin of his cheeks flush red. Pete wondered, offhandedly, if there would ever be a time when he wouldn’t make his friends try to scrub their own skin off in frustration.  
Pete gave Travie a pat on the shoulder and skirted around him while his defenses were down. “Don’t worry so much, McCoy. It’ll all be fine.”  
He opened the door, stepped back inside, and smiled at Gabe. “So, Saporta, you said?”  
“That’s me,” Gabe looked at himself, “Judging by the state I’m in, I’m probably one of the last.”  
“Or the last,” Pete offered, “I didn’t find anyone around you. Just you.”  
“Just me,” Gabe lifted the bad arm, looked at the bandages. “The last one, huh?”  
“So what’s it like, being an assassin?”  
“Pete!” Travie groaned, sounding nearly defeated. “What the _fuck_!?”  
“It’s good to be upfront about these things,” Pete argued, sitting back in his chair, “Besides, why would Gabe kill me? He’s already offered his, like, eternal servitude to me, twice. Andy would be jealous.”  
“Don’t bring up Andy.” Travie put his face in his hands, “That boy is gonna freak.”  
“I’m not an assassin, yet.” Gabe muttered, breaking into their argument, “I haven’t been hired by anyone. I’ve done jobs, of course, because it’s tradition for me to go with my mother when she’s bought, but no one has ever bought _me_ before.”  
“See?” Pete smirked at Travie, “He’s perfectly safe. Sorry about him,” He turned back to Gabe and pointed his thumb at Travie, “He’s got some concerns.”  
“I won’t hurt you,” Gabe promise, “I owe you my life now. My fangs are yours.”  
“That really isn’t necessary,” Pete smiled, “But thanks. Here’s the thing though, uh, can you...not tell people your last name? Make up a new one, or something, but I guess I’ll get into a lot of trouble if anyone finds out I let you in here, okay?”  
Gabe nodded seriously, twisting the sheets in his fingers again, “I will. I don’t want to cause you trouble, sir.”  
“A-aaa-nd that’s a definite ‘no’,” Pete broke in, “It’s...it’s just Pete, okay? No...’sir’, or whatever. My name’s Pete.”  
“Pete,” Gabe repeated, nodding, “Okay, Pete. Like I was saying, you saved my life so I’m in your debt. As the last Saporta, I guess that means I’m all alone, so there’s no point in going back to the desert. Sand and Sun won’t miss me, anyway. I guess I’ll just stick with you...Pete.”  
“Pete’s already got a ‘forever in your debt’ guy,” Travie shook his head, sounding only a little hostile, “And he won’t appreciate you stepping on his toes. Why don’t you find some other idiot to indenture yourself to?”  
Gabe gave Travie an irritated look, “Don’t you know anything, man? This is my code. _Pete_ saved my life, and so it belongs to him now. All of my people know that.”  
“Speaking of,” Travie loomed, “Shouldn’t you be a little more broken up about your family?”  
“Why?” Gabe shrugged, “They’re returned to the Sands, where they belong. Why would I grieve?”  
“Because they’re _dead_!” Travie stood up, “What the fuck?”  
“They’re not _dead_ ,” Gabe glared at him, “They’re just _Sand_ now. We’ll be reunited, one day. Saporta don’t grieve for those who have returned, city slicker.”  
“Hey!” Pete stood up, hands spread, “Both of you need to calm the fuck down. Travie, what the hell, man? He isn’t going to do anything. Just relax. Gabe, don’t call my friends _city slicker_ , got it?”  
Travie flopped back down, arms crossed and glaring. Gabe grumbled, looking away.  
“Good.” Pete set carefully, “Setting aside the, uh, _life debt_ you apparently owe me, let’s get back to what happened. Namely, what exactly happened to your family? I can’t imagine a crew of assassins would go down easily.”  
“Like I said,” Gabe spoke up after a testy shot of his eyes towards Travie, “My family fought the Cobra bots. We were setting up camp and we stumbled across a nest of them. There were too many to fight, but a Saporta doesn’t back down. I don’t remember much after I was…”  
He motioned to his bandaged side, looking a little unsure, “But I think my mom pushed me onto a bike. I must have crashed, and started walking. They would have followed me, if I hadn’t left Zone 1, so I guess I did.”  
“I found you farther out,” Pete agreed, “I, uh, I’m sorry that happened, Gabe.”  
Gabe shrugged, looking up from his lap, “They’ve returned. Until then, I’ve beaten the cobra and I live. Until I pay my life debt to you, my honor is gone, though.”  
“Honor?” Travie scoffed, but shut up when Pete gave him a hard look.  
“Honor,” Gabe spat at him, “My honor as a Saporta. We live by no man’s rules, be it Better Living or otherwise. You saved my life and, in doing so, stole it from my grasp. Until I repay you, I’m lost.”  
“But you don’t have anywhere else to go,” Pete frowned, “If you’re family has...returned to the Sand, that means you’re alone.”  
Gabe nodded. “Like I said before.”  
“You were saying it all too early in the conversation,” Pete sighed, “I didn’t know what you were talking about.”  
“I’ll say with you,” Gabe insisted, “Until I can repay you. I won’t…” he glanced at Travie again, “Step on any toes.”  
“Don’t worry about Andy,” Pete shrugged, a little amused, “He’ll be a little pissed I somehow managed to pick up another guy who insists on repaying some stupid life debt, but he won’t fuck with you. Unlike _Travie_ , apparently.”  
“I’m just saying,” Travie argued, “He’s _dangerous._ There’s no telling what kind of training he has, he’s already admitted to killing people for money - money paid by _BL_ at certain times, and if your parents find out he’s a Saporta, all of our asses are toast!”  
“How old are you?” Pete looked at Gabe, face serious. Travie went quiet so Gabe took it as non-rhetorical and shrugged.  
“Fifteen.”  
Pete looked at Travie and crossed his arms. “You want me to throw a fifteen year old out into the city, by himself, with no honor? He’s our age, Travie.”  
Travie glowered, but he didn’t try to tell Pete to throw Gabe out on his ass again.  
“Now that that’s settled,” Pete turned back to Gabe and offered his hand to him. It felt a little familiar, like when he’d reached for Andy that first time in the alley. Gabe reached out and took it with no hesitation, though, wrapping his fingers firm around Pete’s palm.  
“How about this. You work for me. You’ll get food, clothes, shelter, a little bit of money, and all you have to do in return is listen to me. And one day, when I need it, I’ll cash in on that debt. Until then, you’ll be my responsibility and I’ll care for you. How does that sound?”  
“Listen to you?”  
“I’m going to take down Better Living,” Pete explained, “And I need good, loyal people to help me. Are you in?”  
Gabe bit his lip, thinking about it. It was a good deal, for someone with nowhere to go and no one to go to.  
He nodded, shaking Pete’s hand.  
-  
“And I know,” Pete sighed, idly tracing Patrick’s face on the screen, “It isn’t exactly a good idea but I couldn’t just throw him on his ass. Now Andy isn’t talking to me, and Travie isn’t really, either. This sucks, Lunchbox.”  
Patrick, completely unaware to Pete’s inane chatter, continued leaning against the wall. He was waiting for his father to pick him up, standing outside the apartment and rubbing his knuckles against the concrete behind him until he’d smeared it with blood. It had to have hurt, but Pete knew what it was like to be willing to put up with the bite of pain just to see the color covering the white. He’d done it himself, a time or two. Nowhere near as often as Patrick, who would sometimes purposefully fall over just to leave blood on the sidewalks or steal markers from parked contamination trucks just to doodle on alley way walls and perfectly white trash cans and poles.  
“You know, finding people to make up my loyal inner circle is a lot of work. I know we’ll all be good friends in a few months, but when we’re just starting out, it’s awkward and cold. I think Andy is a little jealous that Gabe is following me around. I mean, it isn’t like Gabe’s replacing Andy, or anything. It’s just, he’s still trying to find his place. He’s only been up and at ‘em for a few days now and he’s not fit in anywhere, yet. I know he and Travie would be great together, if Travie would stop being so hung up on him being a Saporta. I convinced Big Sean to take him under his wing for a while, though, so I’m hoping he’ll catch Shakira’s eye and she’ll take him on full time. Beyoncé’s already got her hands full with training Andy but maybe Shakira will convince Jay-Z to take him in. Gabe would make a good covert agent, I think. What do you think?”  
He paused, like Patrick would answer, but all Patrick did was glance around before he started tapping his fingers against the wall. Pete couldn’t _see_ it, but he could tell from the way Patrick’s foot was twitching, the way his head bobbed just a little bit to the beat of the latest song he’d started learning from his book.  
“You’re right,” Pete sighed, “It’ll work itself out. I should probably just get them all to fall in love with the same song. Music has always been a good force behind Travie, Andy, and I. I don’t see why Gabe would be any different. Thanks, Pattycakes. You always know what to do.”  
He leaned back, hand carefully away from the Spy Fly he was controlling so he didn’t accidentally move it from the perfect shot it had of Patrick.  
 _You know,_ Sandman rolled over, scratching at his bedhead and yawning, _Talking to a screen showing you a kid you’ve never met before, and who has no idea who you are or that you’re even watching him, is super creepy._  
 ** _You’re_** _super creepy,_ Pete muttered back, tossing Sandman the bird, _What do you care? It isn’t like you’re any better._  
 _Whatever,_ Sandman rubbed his eyes, _It’s time to switch, anyway._  
Pete frowned, glancing at the clock. Four hours really had passed by, fast like usual when he got to sit, relax, and make sure Patrick was okay. In the weeks that he’d been home, Patrick really had taken a page out of the ‘safe for idiots’ guides Pete had always wished he would and wasn’t getting into nearly as much trouble as usual. Sandman had only had to intervene _once_ since they’d returned and it had only been because Patrick had snuck out for a notebook once, before he stopped again.  
“Fine,” Pete sighed, “Try to stay out of trouble.”  
 _Whatever,_ Sandman repeated, already itching to take control and stretch his limbs out. Pete shot the screen one last fond look, and then he closed his eyes and let himself _sleep._  
 _Sandman rolled his shoulders, rubbing out the stiff joints from sitting so long and then stretching out each leg as far as they would go. Pete never moved when he was on guard, but Sandman liked to stay limber, ready to pounce or run or anything in between. He’d rather have been there in person, watching Patrick from close by in case there was an emergency, but even Sandman knew that broad daylight wasn’t the place for him when he was trying to stay hidden. Besides, Patrick was still on the lookout for consequences after the Black Parade Rebellion, and Sandman didn’t want to cause any undue damage._  
 _S_ top moving so loud, _Pete grumbled into his pillow, sounding every bit the child he was to Sandman._  
Sleep, Pete. _Sandman rolled his eyes. God knew the stupid human needed it. He watched Pete drift easily into rest before he focused back on the screen, his fingers effortlessly controlling the Spy Fly as it followed Stump's car. Occasionally, he looked in on Pete, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and **feeling** the way that the rest was helping him. Pete would no more admit it to his little friends than he would to Sandman, but the discontent in his ranks - small though they were - had rankled him. Pete wasn't one for conflict where there should be harmony. If it hadn't been his own body affected, Sandman would have found it amusing that a princeling of what amounted to a terrorist cell wasn't able to handle fighting._  
 _But it_ was _his body, so it just made Sandman want to bang heads together until the three of them understood that their fighting was beginning to piss Sandman off._  
 _Pete was resting, though, and - for the moment - that was good enough for him._  
 _He turned back to watching Patrick, focusing the camera on the two Stumps' exiting their car and walking into their apartment. Patrick wouldn't - shouldn't - be leaving for the rest of the night, so Sandman settled into his spot and got ready to wait._  
 _His shift passed without incident, and he waved Andy away when he came to relieve Pete and Sandman. Pete, who could usually wake almost on the dot of the end of their shift, slept through not only Sandman's turn, but Andy's, as well. When he did finally start moving from his bed, stretching out one muscle at a time, from toes to fingers it was nearly the end of a twelve hour shift in front of the screen. Patrick slept, too, the light in his room out and no sound that Sandman could pick up through the powerful Spy Fly microphone._  
Sandman?  
Pete. _Sandman set on the edge of Pete's bed, threading his fingers through the dark of his hair and letting Pete press his face against Sandman's bared thigh. The gowns they wore, the same ripped and bloody gown they'd worn when they'd been taken from Doctor Death Adder, had grown with them. It had almost worried Sandman, that Pete still imagined them both in this cloth in his head, but even Sandman - in all his Godly glory - could never escape what had happened in the real world version of this room, and he had come to understand that if he couldn't do it, than Pete had not even a hope to._  
Hey, Sandman?  
 _Sandman acknowledged, claws lightly parting Pete's hair between them, allowing himself to pet Pete while they were both on the edge of exhaustion. His senses told him Patrick was safe, that Andy would come, soon, to take Patrick's safety off their hands for a few hours while they both slept._  
Do you think I'm a monster?  
A monster? _Sandman paused in his movements for a few seconds. Pete pressed into his hand and he started again without a second thought._ A monster like me?  
Yes, _Pete nodded, eyelashes fluttering against Sandman's skin as Pete resisted the urge to open his eyes._  
I don't know. _Sandman shrugged,_ I've always thought of you as my human half. If **I** am a monster, than I can only imagine that you are on the opposite of the spectrum.  
That's different, _Pete explained, his hand curling around the bloodied edge of Sandman's gown. He could still remember the face of the man who the blood belonged to. A doctor he knew to have been one of Death Adder's assistants, his face twisted in pain and the blood Pete's small, weak feet had slipped in pooling around him from the hole in his head._ You're not human. I mean...am I a human monster? Am I...do you think I'm a bad person?  
 _Sandman tried not to sigh. He really was thankful that Mikey Way had been able to make Pete realize where Yeezus and his peons were trying to do, but he could have done without the new obsession with doing what was 'right.'_  
I think, _he said firmly,_ that you have a warped view of what is right and what is wrong. This world is not black or white, Pete. Just like fucking morality, the world is gray.  
 _It pained Sandman to use Yeezus as an example, but he did so anyway, because he'd rather say something just slightly positive about Yeezus, than listen to Pete mope and fret farther on the matter._  
Do you think Yeezus is a monster? He's killed people, indirectly and directly. He's allowed children to starve, people to lead themselves to their deaths, etcetera.  
No, _Sandman felt the brush of teeth as Pete bit his bottom lip,_ Yeezus had to do it. It was...  
A necessary evil. Yeezus is not a good man. To people outside the Young Bloods, Yeezus is a **bad** man, in fact. But he is no monster.  
Because he helps people?  
Because he knows that there is no such thing as 'bad.' _Sandman sighed,_ And he understands that - if you want to succeed in the world we've found ourselves in, you can't operate solely in the black, or the white. More often than not...  
 _Pete relaxes his grip on Sandman's gown, palm coming away bloody and leaving a red handprint on Pete's bed when he pushed himself off Sandman's thigh._  
You have to work in the gray.  
You got it, _Sandman nodded,_ So, to answer your question, I think you're as much of a monster as you need to be.  
 _Pete blinked, looking at him. He smiled, slowly, and it made Sandman want to hit something._  
Don't fucking look at me like that, Pete.  
Like what? _Pete grinned, his stupid donkey teeth being revealed as his lips pulled back,_ Like someone who gives a shit?  
Shut the fuck up, _Sandman stood and brushed himself off. Between one moment and the next, he's shed the gown and was back in his usual pants, black leather low on his hips._  
You're conceited. _Pete teased, sounding more upbeat than when he's been curled against Sandman._  
 _Sandman didn't bother replying, crashing onto his own bed without another word and focusing back on the screen. Patrick still slept on, ignorant to the plots swirling around him, the people he had watching him._  
 _They didn't talk to each other until Andy showed up again to take his shift. Sandman got them back to their room, ignoring Pete's stupid face, and fell into the bed. Pete was still too tired to get up and Sandman was no different. It had been awhile since they'd shared the room, made the lights go off, bathing the room in the red emergency light of the bathroom, and slept - both beds filled._  
 _-_  
Andy and Travie had never been more on the same wavelength than they were when they dealt with Gabe. Pete couldn't help but cherish the looks on their faces when Jay-Z agreed to take Gabe under his tutelage.  
"But," Andy spluttered, "But, he-"  
"He's a natural!" Jay-Z enthused, "Have you seen his skill? It's incredible, he's already on your level after only training for a week, Andy!"  
"That's my boy," Pete smirked, crossing his arms, "I told you he was a fast learner."  
"You made a good call, Pete." Jay-Z agreed, "I'm proud. You have a good eye, kid."  
"Thanks," Pete cast a glance at his two friends, "Maybe they'll start trusting me with it, too."  
"I trust you," Gabe reminded him, making Pete laugh. It was almost funny, how much Gabe had come to cling to Pete. If Pete had to guess, he's say that he might have earned Gabe's loyalty while he watched over him in the infirmary, but the days of consistent food, water, and a good nest had to have helped.  
"You're a fucking suck up," Andy snapped back, "Jay-Z, I really don't -"  
"Don't worry," Jay-Z smiled understandingly, "Beyoncé isn't going to be training Gabe. From now on, he'll tail me. The only duty he'll have that isn't assisting me will be when he watches Stump."  
Travie wheeled around staring at Pete with something akin to betrayal.  
"You put him on _Patrick duty_!?"  
"Of course I did," Pete sighed, "I trust Gabe, as much as I trust you and Andy."  
"But," Travie gaped, "But, Pete, it's Patrick."  
"You think I don't know that?" Pete raised his eyebrow, "Maybe this will show you how much I trust Gabe."  
Pete settled an arm around Gabe's shoulders, "And you should, too."  
"No way," Andy scoffed, turned his back on them. He stalked out, pissed, and Travie followed him soon after, hands in his pocket.  
"You know," Pete sighed, "They didn't have a problem with you when you were knocked out with snake venom."  
"Jealousy works in mysterious ways." Jay-Z smiled, looking unoffended and calm, "It’s always been the three of you. They're unsure of what to make of Gabe. Either way, they'll come around."  
"They'd better." Pete rubbed Gabe's arm - careful of the bandages - and pulled away. "This is ridiculous. Andy hasn't been waking me up, so I've been late three days in a row. Yeezus is gonna kill me, if Beyoncé doesn’t do it first."  
"That," Jay-Z gave him an amused once over, "Is your fault, not Andy's. It isn't his job to treat you like a king, he just does it."  
"Yeah, yeah," Pete muttered, turning away from them both to watch the door. It wasn't just the wake up alarms or the special treatment Andy gave him that he missed, and he'd admit it. What with Gabe, trying to make up for lost training, and Patrick, it hadn't been their version of _normal_ since he's gotten back from the desert.  
"Should I try talking to them?" Gabe asked, once Jay-Z had followed Andy and Travie's lead and skedaddled.  
"They wouldn't listen," Pete groaned, settling into Jay-Z's chair and spinning slowly. Part of the spring was broken, so it leaned to the side and when his body swiveled to the left, his hanging fingertips brushed the floor.  
"I don't know how to make them like me," Gabe admitted, “I can't change who my family or crew is, and I've already sworn myself to you until I can regain my honor."  
Pete thought about fighting Gabe on it, telling him that Pete had even less of a grip on Gabe's honor than Gabe did, but he'd long learned that some fights were just unwinnable. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and kept spinning.  
"If they could just see you, I'm sure it'd change their minds. I mean, once they see how big of an asset you are..."  
"Put us on a mission together!" Gabe set on the desk in front of the chair, stopping Pete's dangerous spinning with his knees. He didn't even complain when Pete's chair snapped against his leg.  
"A mission?" Pete thought about it, "But it would have to be controlled. Two barely trained operatives, and one not trained at all, are totally not odds I trust."  
"Please," Gabe scoffed, "I had almost completed my training before my crew was returned to the Sand. I'm at least on their level, you know that."  
"I do," Pete agreed, "But my bosses don't. Cee-Lo is in charge of who goes where and he's impressed, but he hasn't seen your real skill. And he can't either, or you might be discovered."  
"I guess," Gabe frowned, disappointed. Pete knew he was getting antsy for a day out, at least. Gabe was used to open desert, endless sands and constant freedom under foot. The city was a change, one he hadn't been able to grow accustomed to yet, because he wasn't allowed out of the building except for his Patrick shifts. Snoop didn't think his wound was healing fast enough, and Gabe's eye was still covered for another month. Snoop's solution had been experimental, something he and Andy had been working on together, and if it worked than it would heal the damage done to Gabe's eye. If it didn't, he'd be blind in it. Pete had the feeling that Andy had only helped because he liked chemistry and not because he’d wanted to help his new best friend Gabe Saporta.  
The four of them were equally nervous, though, about removing the bandages or, worse, fucking Gabe up before it had finished working.  
"What if I took you guys on a patrol?" Pete offered, "I'll tell Jay-Z it's team building. And, I mean...technically, it is."  
"That might work...but how am I supposed to show how good I am if we're just patrolling?"  
"We'll seek out a few pigs. I'll put myself in danger, you swoop in. Then, they'll _have_ to trust you."  
Gabe hesitated, looking just a little nervous, "Are you sure that's a good idea? You put a lot of trust in me."  
"I trust you," Pete gave him a deadpan look, "That's why this is happening. I know you'll save me."  
"What if I can't?" Gabe tapped his fingers against his knee, looking down, "I've never killed anything without prior information. Or my team."  
"Don't worry," Pete finally smiled, "Even if you can't do it, Andy or Travie will. Andy's my bodyguard for a reason."  
Pete hadn’t gotten around to telling Gabe about Sandman yet, so he didn’t think it was quite pertinent to mention that Andy’s main role wasn’t to protect _Pete_ , but to protect _other people_ from what Pete - Sandman - could do to them.  
"If you're sure," Gabe nodded, "I mean, if you really think I can protect you, than I think it's a good plan."  
"Good. I'll go clear it with Cee-Lo and we'll go from there. It's probably best if they knew nothing about it until it was too late, so try to avoid them."  
"They do a good enough job of that without my help," Gabe frowned, "But I'll try."  
"I know," Pete stood, gripping his shoulder and squeezing, "You'll be fine. We'll fix it, together."  
Gabe didn't answer, but he smiled and that was enough for Pete.  
And that was how, four days later, a steaming Andy, silent Travie, smug Pete, and nervous Gabe went off on a patrol of the Young Bloods' outer border together.  
“This is ridiculous,” Andy snapped the moment they were out of Beyoncé’s considerable hearing range.  
“Not my decision,” Pete lied through his teeth. “Look on the bright side, guys! We’re on a mission together, that never happens!”  
“Yeah,” Travie frowned at the floor, “How convenient that we’re on a mission together, without supervision.”  
“Are you accusing me?” Pete frowned, “Travie, I’m hurt.”  
“I’m not accusing _you_ ,” Travie muttered, but Pete shrugged him off.  
“Sandman doesn’t care enough about anyone to purposefully set up a mission together, Travie,” Pete sighed, being deliberately obtuse, “Don’t be so paranoid.”  
Seeing what Pete was doing, Travie let the matter drop without another word.  
Gabe didn’t say anything either, at least, not until they’d cleared a few minutes of the patrol. Finally, he broke the stern silence, mostly perpetuated by Andy, with a question.  
“Who’s Sandman?”  
“Sandman?” Pete shifted a little, trying not to look uncomfortable. Andy’s sharp eyes on him made it quite obvious that he’d failed, “He’s, uh...Well, I guess he is me.”  
 _Don’t flatter yourself,_ Sandman scoffed, casually tracing shapes on the white wall with his shadows.  
 _Shut up,_ Pete grumbled, eyes watching Gabe at his side, “What I mean is, he’s...kind of a split personality.”  
“He’s none of your business,” Andy said harshly, “So back off.”  
“Andy,” Pete frowned, “If Gabe’s going to be one of my crew, he has to know. He’ll find out, eventually, if not from me than from someone else.”  
“You can’t _trust him_ ,” Travie snapped, “You can’t just,”  
“I can,” Pete narrowed his eyes, “Because I want to and it’s _mine_ to tell.”  
Travie threw his hands up and, unsure of himself, Gabe glanced at Pete.  
“It’s like this,” Pete let out a breath, “I was born and raised in Better Living, until I was around seven. While I was there, I was part of an experiment, and that experiment was Sandman. He’s kind of like...another personality, living in me.”  
“The split personality,” Gabe nodded in understanding. He didn’t look uncomfortable, weirded out or scared. That reaction, more than anything, proved that Pete had made the right decision. Travie and Andy hadn’t been scared of him either, while even Beyoncé and Yeezus had been careful around him for almost a year after meeting Sandman. Jay-Z hadn’t seen a problem.  
“Yeah,” Pete smiled, “And, he’s...violent. Kind of crazy. I wouldn’t be around him, if I were you. He isn’t exactly fond of many people.”  
“Any people, you mean,” Andy muttered, arms still crossed. His clipboard was nowhere to be found, but he was packing at least three knives that Pete could see. It had been awhile since he’d actually had contact with Andy, who was ignoring him so hard that even the other trainees were noticing, and it was almost a relief to actually see him again. Andy was his best friend and he knew more about Pete, and Pete about him, than anyone else in the whole world, other than maybe Kobra - and that was saying something because, for the first seven years of his life, it had been a whole team of people’s job to know every atom and cell that made him up.  
“He likes you,” Pete pointed out, “Or, well, he tolerates you.”  
Andy shot him a venomous glare. Okay, so they weren’t to the point where Pete got to tease Andy and Andy took it good naturedly. Got it.  
Still, Andy hadn’t tried to kill Gabe, Travie was keeping the cutting remarks to a minimum, and Gabe wasn’t snapping under the pressure of being expected to, of almost being pushed into, betraying Pete’s trust, so Pete was willing to call it a win, for the most part.  
His plan, in the end, had been simple. Pete knew the rotations, he and Andy had worked out the ‘random’ sequence of patrols many a moon ago - much to Jay-Z’s pleasure - and he’d been sure to pick out a convincing group to intercept with. His whole plan relied on Andy not having had the chance to research what rotation BL was in but, with only three hours’ notice, not even Andy would have had the chance to memorize just what Drac crew would be where. If Andy’s lack of protest was anything to go by, he hadn’t had the chance because not a word was spoken as Pete deliberately led them on a straight collision course with a two-Vixen-five-Drac patrol.  
 _You’ve done some pretty stupid things in your short life,_ Sandman commented, propping his head up on his hand and looking at Pete from his bed, _But purposefully leading your friends into an attack almost takes the cake. It falls just short of stupidest, following only a little behind relying on me to differentiate if it comes to a fight._  
 _Don’t worry,_ Pete waved a hand at him in dismissal, _I have three perfectly handy bodyguards and my own fighting skills going for me, Sandman. I don’t think I’ll need you, this time._  
 _Is that what you think?_ Sandman laughed, a little harder than Pete thought was warranted. Sure, it was one of his more...unorthodox plans, but by the time they got home, he’d have his three friends on the same page or, by Smog and Deceit, they wouldn’t be going home at all. _This is going to blow up in your face and I’m going to have to save your ass, again._  
 _Shut up,_ Pete frowned, narrowing his eyes, _Why can’t you just support me, Sandman? I really need these three to work out and showing Andy and Travie Gabe’s amazing skills is bound to help me accomplish that._  
 _Throwing yourself into danger just to prove that you can get yourself out of it,_ Sandman snapped his fingers and a small shadow of a flame appeared at the tips of his fingers, _Is like playing with fire when you accidentally spilled lighter fluid on yourself. Can you do it? Sure, if you’re very careful. Should you do it, when there are other ways to go about it? Fuck yes._  
 _You’ll see,_ Pete crossed his arms, _By the time this patrol is done, I’ll have Gabe, Travie, and Andy best friends._  
 _I’d settle for alive, if I were you._ Sandman scoffed, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt. How eyes so black they blended in with the marks on his face were so expressive, Pete had no idea.  
 _I don’t **settle**_ , Pete snapped back, ending the conversation.  
“Pete?” Gabe muttered, nudging him. Pete glanced at him, then found Andy and Travie - taking to the shadows of a broken up, brick wall a few yards away, “Are we still on?”  
“We’ll run into them in about two minutes, if nothing delays us or keeps them.” Pete nodded, “Two Vixen, five Drac. The Vixen are who you need to worry about, got it? Andy and Travie will have the Dracs down without a problem but both of them have a little bit of a problem matching a Vixen’s speed. You’re twice as fast as me, so I know you could beat them at a foot race,”  
“It’s not a foot race we’re trying to win,” Gabe sighed. Pete almost asked if Gabe wanted to back down. It wasn’t too late to change course, avoid the patrol with a mile buffer between them, if he wanted, but Gabe just hardened his face and straightened up. It was like watching Gabe train, watching him pull on his mask and focus his energy until he wasn’t just Gabe, but he was Gabe _Saporta_ , and he could kick your ass.  
“That’s my guy,” Pete clasped his shoulder, “Just be ready, because once they find us, they won’t let us go while they’re still kickin’.”  
“I understand,” Gabe nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. With as tall and willowy weak as he looked, narrowing his shoulders should have made him look even more ready to snap in the wind, but Pete couldn’t help but notice that Gabe looked _dangerous_ , even while appearing so waifish and carefree. Gabe had been trained just as hard, if not harder, as Pete and his peers, and he held himself like he was sword and shield both.  
“You look prepared for a brawl,” Travie commented, glancing over his shoulder at Gabe, “Something wrong?”  
He was suspicious, so Pete cleared his throat, “I thought I heard something up ahead and I was just telling Gabe.”  
“Why didn’t you mention it?” Andy demanded, freezing in his steps, “What the fuck, Pete?”  
“I must have gotten the rotation confused,” Pete admitted, lying through his teeth once again. Now that he was listening, Pete actually could hear the approaching patrol. They were running a little ahead of schedule, which worked out just fine for him. He just hoped some of them could put up enough of a fight against Travie and Andy that Gabe could show off a little. Inside of him, Sandman shifted and Pete got a bad feeling. There was something coming towards them that was almost repellent, almost made Pete want to run away. But Pete had never run away a day in his life, when he thought he had a chance at winning, so he charged through the feeling, and Sandman’s _You fucking **idiot** , _without pause.  
“If we veer off,” Travie mentioned, “We can avoid them.”  
“I don’t think so,” Andy pressed a hand to the brick and closed his eyes. “No, they’re too close. I can hear them talking.”  
Pete had never been failed by Andy’s hearing, and if he could already hear them talking, than they were too close to escape unnoticed.  
“We’ll have to fight them,” Pete shrugged, “How many are there?”  
“Six...no, seven.” Andy tilted his head towards Pete, not opening his eyes. “They’re...two Vixen, I’d say. The rest sound normal: Drac or scientist, impossible to tell. They’ve noticed us, one of the Dracs is sniffing us out.”  
“Shit,” Gabe muttered, cracking his knuckles, “So we fight?”  
“We fight,” Travie nodded, “Best to get them off now. Three blocks our way is the newest market area and they’ll massacre whoever they find there.”  
“You,” Andy pointed a severe finger at Gabe, “Follow _my_ word. You,” he turned it on Pete and Pete tried not to preen at the attention, “Stay the fuck back so you don’t get hurt,” _or hurt somebody._  
Pete agreed, stepping back into the shadows and letting the city envelop him. When Andy and Travie looked towards the approaching BL patrol and Gabe looked at Pete, Pete nodded at him. This was Gabe’s chance, his only chance for a while, of proving himself to them. Pete had set it up, but it was Gabe’s turn, now. Hopefully only one eye wouldn’t throw him off too badly.  
The first Drac to show himself in the mouth of the street was struck down with one of Andy’s knives. He would retrieve it, after they were through taking the patrol down. The alarm went up and the other four swarmed with little warning. It shouldn’t have been difficult, but two Vixen evened out the odds. Pete clenched his fists so he wouldn’t jump in. This was Gabe’s fight, not his, and he couldn't take the opportunity for Gabe to prove himself to Travie and Andy away.  
 _Come on, Gabe,_ Pete thought, _Show them what you can do. What I know you can do._  
One of the Vixen spotted Pete and, against every instinct he had, Pete stood stock still and let her come at him. Andy and Travie were blurs on the edges of his vision, fully locked onto her movements as he was, but he knew that they weren’t paying attention. Four Dracs weren’t much, but five on two wasn’t easy, either, not when a Vixen was involved.  
She was nearly on him, and Pete had nearly given in and fought her, when Gabe smoothly stepped between them and dispatched her with a well-placed snap of his knife arm. She shrieked in pain, just loud enough to draw attention to the two of them and just short enough that Pete knew Gabe had severed her throat cleanly. She fell, bleeding out under foot, while Pete settled against the wall and Gabe dove into the fray to even the score. Gabe was fast, efficient, and he kept the single Vixen distracted while Andy and Travie took out the Dracs. She was wary, having watched him take out her sister with little effort, and he couldn’t get close enough to take her out by himself. By the time she realized that she wouldn’t be able to kill him, and that her patrol had been defeated, it was too late for her. Andy’s well placed throw ended her not-quite-life and she joined the rest of the bodies on the dirty, dark ground beneath them.  
“Wow, guys,” Pete smiled, clapping, “That was amazing! Seven operatives in under five minutes!”  
“You handled yourself,” Andy ran an appraising eye over Pete, just fast enough to make sure he wasn’t injured, “And so did Gabe, I see.”  
“Of course he did,” Travie frowned, crossing his arms, “He’s a trained assassin.”  
“I’m not an assassin,” Gabe frowned, “I’ve never been hired to kill before in my life, I wasn’t even fully trained.”  
“Semantics,” Andy scoffed, but when he looked Gabe over for injuries, he didn’t seem as critical as before. Most people, Pete included, knew that the way to Andy’s heart was to keep Pete out of trouble, and taking that Vixen out had fallen strictly under that category. Travie, on the other hand, looked even more nervous that before. Maybe Gabe had gone a little overboard, with the seemingly easy kill. If there was a next time, Pete would warn him that making it look like he’d been expecting the attack wasn’t going to do him any favors.  
“More importantly,” Andy turned on Pete and the worry was long gone, replaced with anger, “What the fuck, Wentz? Looking at the wrong route? That was fucking idiotic and reckless, what the hell made you think you could put us all in danger like that!?”  
Pete opened his mouth, not quite sure how he was going to respond but knowing it was going to be witty and charmingly nonchalant, just the way it needed to be to get Andy less angry that Pete had made a mistake and more happy that he was talking to Pete again. Instead, Gabe interrupted with a shouted, “Pete, watch out!”  
And then there was a sudden, sharp prick in his neck and everything was going hazy.  
 _Pete!_ Sandman shouted, sounding panicked. He jumped out of his bed, where he’d been lounging and dozing since the patrol had started, and reached out for Pete but when Pete tried to reach back to him, tried to grab his hand and cling, there was a something stopping him. Something like a glass pane between them steadily darkening - starting from the edges and, as the haze got worse, spreading out to turn the transparent barrier opaque.  
 _Sandman!_ Pete screamed, starting to bang on the glass. He had no idea what was going on in the real world, whether he was still awake or passed out on the ground, if they’d been attacked or if something had just _gone wrong_ as they were known to do around Pete. He had no idea, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, not yet, not with Sandman bashing his whole body into the tinted glass with everything he had. Sandman was yelling, Pete could see his mouth moving, but there was no sound coming through anymore and it sent Pete into a panic the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since he was still a child. He thrashed against the glass, clawed at it until his nails chipped off and then punched at the black wall until he felt his bones crack. He fell to his knees, feeling his whole body trembling. He wanted to touch Sandman, feel him in their head and _know,_ without a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t alone.  
But, for the first time in the whole of Pete’s life, since the very moment he could remember, he _was_ alone and Sandman was gone.  
 _Sandman_! He shouted, pressing his mouth to the glass, like if he could just yell loud enough, close enough, Sandman could hear, _Sandman, I need you!_  
He listened as hard as he could, straining his ears for even the hint of noise, but even after several minutes had passed, he got nothing. He could barely think, his mind too quiet, and he could barely stop himself from just slumping over and waiting like that, in a pile on the floor. Pete was pathetic and he knew it without a doubt, but he was pathetic with _Sandman_ and he _needed_ Sandman. He couldn’t live without Sandman, it just wasn’t possible. Pete wasn’t _Pete_ if he didn’t have Sandman and vice versa. That was just how it was, how it had been since Pete was five years old, and how it would always be so long as Pete was alive.  
Pete blinked slowly and between the loss of vision, he was back with his friends but in a completely different environment.  
“What,”  
“ _Shh_ ,” Andy hissed at him, hand flashing up to grab Pete’s face and cover his mouth. He didn’t try to explain, didn’t say a word, pressing Pete to his chest and looking over Pete’s shoulder. Pete craned his neck, blinked into the dark and made out Travie and Gabe, both peaking over what looked to be big crates. After a few seconds, Travie threw up an all clear sign, and then Gabe did the same and Pete felt Andy relax against his back. Andy’s hand fell away, but Pete was reaching back for it without a second thought.  
“Andy, Andy,” He barely whispered, “Andy, Sandman’s gone, they took him,”  
“Took him, Pete, what the hell are you talking about?” Travie frowned, “We were attacked. They shot you with a dart and you went down. Gabe says it’s one of his family’s, that they use it for poison.”  
“Where are we?” Pete pressed against Andy, just trying to regain that feeling of closeness, of not being so _alone_ in his head. It was killing him, like that spreading darkness on the mirror was spreading over _him_ , too, and he could do nothing to stop it.  
Andy didn’t try to get away. He let Pete cling to him, wrapped his arms around Pete and rubbed at his shoulders while he tried to think of a way out of the situation.  
“You were out, so Travie picked you up and we ducked into a warehouse.” Gabe explained, knives out and ready for any trouble. He looked dangerous like this, half of his body lost to the shadows and the rest of him only barely visible in the dark. If Pete hadn’t known better, he never would have guessed that Gabe wasn’t city born, hadn’t grown up with a thick coat of shadows to protect him from the world. Next to Gabe, Travie was a hulking figure - crouching behind the safety of a crate but no less intimidating. He didn’t have his knives out but, even without them, Pete knew he would be a beast to fight. It wasn’t often that Pete and Travie fought together, but Pete was always impressed when they did.  
“What do you mean, Sandman’s gone,” Travie peered closer at him, “You were never out of our sight, how could they remove a whole AI from your head?”  
“I don’t know,” Pete gasped, slamming his fist into the glass as hard as he could, “I don’t know, there’s something separating us, fucking _glass_. There’s something _keeping me from him_ ,”  
“Hey,” Andy demanded, gripping Pete’s shoulder, “Pete, listen to me. They haven’t taken him away. He’s still there. You’re okay, we’re going to protect you until he can break that glass, do you understand?”  
“Andy,” Pete nearly wailed, voice barely loud enough to be heard even so close, “Andy, what if whatever they put in me _hurt_ him? What if it killed him and this glass is going to be with me for the rest of my life, I can’t live without Sandman, Andy, I can’t do it, I can’t, I don’t _want to_ ,”  
Andy had never hit Pete before. Even sparing, the only contact Andy made was with weapons or the occasional pressure point jab to knock Pete on his ass. That fact that he had never hit Pete before did more to shut Pete up than the actual action of Andy’s hand meeting Pete’s cheek or the burn that was left behind.  
“Pete Wentz, you’d better shut the fuck up. We’re in a life or death situation and Sandman is _relying on you_ to keep both yourself, and him, safe. You have three highly trained people who literally are sworn to protect you with our lives, and whatever they put in you _will_ wear off, and you _will_ see Sandman again. Do you understand me?”  
Pete nodded slowly, his hand pressing to his cheek, feeling the hot skin where Andy had struck him. What Andy was saying made sense, and that had to be enough. Feeling so empty, so alone in his own body, like his whole world had just been cut in half, nothing made any sense at all - except for what Andy was saying. If what Andy was saying made sense, then that meant he’d be getting Sandman _back_.  
“Just,” Travie tried, “Just think of...of Patrick, okay? He needs you to keep going because no one will protect him if you aren’t here, right? Who’s gonna keep BL away if you don’t?”  
Pete caught his breath and tried to think. The only way he’d be dead is if Andy, Travie, and Gabe died, too, and if all of them died, then there wouldn’t be anyone who cared enough to protect Patrick like he needed to be. Yeezus wanted to use Patrick as a second gen spy, sure, but not so much that he’d actually waste manpower watching Patrick every day. Even now, Pete had had to make Beyoncé promise to put her girls on him because he’d known asking Yeezus was just going to mean empty assurances. Patrick was a rebellious little shit and he put himself in too much danger all the time, too much danger to take so much risk on.  
No one would take care of Patrick like he deserve to be, except Pete and Pete’s friends.  
“That’s right,” Andy agreed, loosening his hold on Pete’s shoulder, “Just think of Patrick. If you go down, we all go down, and that means Patrick, too.”  
“I can’t let him get hurt,” Pete reasoned, pulling away from Andy to sit on his own. “They won’t make sure he’s safe.”  
“Not like you do,” Travie nodded, “So just fucking think of Patrick. Stay strong for him, until Sandman comes back.”  
Pete took a deep breath and nodded. He would stay strong for Patrick, because Patrick needed him to be, even if he didn’t know it.  
“I hate to interrupt,” Gabe said tightly, sounding like he meant it, “But we’ve got company.”  
Andy shoved Pete down to the ground and kneeled next to him, ducked down but ready to fight. He hadn’t been able to get his knives back from where he’d thrown them and so he was left with only one, a wickedly long, bloody blade with a grip wrapped in peeling duct tape to keep it together held tight in his fist.  
Travie pressed his back to the crate and Pete watched the way he tilted his head, trying to hear for footsteps. Gabe didn’t move much, slipped low to the ground between two crates and peering into the walkways where the pigs would be coming from.  
They waited in silence, baited breaths and silent shuffling between the four of them as the voices Gabe had heard grew louder and louder - approaching their hiding spot.  
In a place like this, a zap wasn’t too dangerous to use and Pete held no doubt that the Dracs had been armed. He wished that he’d taken his own zap, that he’d listened to the instincts that told him he should _always_ have long range on him, even if he spent the whole day in the alleys. Instead, he had a missing AI and a single, short blade in his boot. Andy wilted suddenly next to him and Pete was up and grabbing him almost before he was falling, catching the knife before it clattered to the concrete floor.  
“Did you hear that?” One of the Dracs asked, pausing right next to their hiding place. His feet must have been inches from Gabe’s nose, hidden as he was between the crates just tall enough to keep them from sight, and Pete clutched Andy’s tense body to his chest and tried not to notice the sticky heat against his hip like he’d had no trouble ignoring just minutes earlier.  
“Hear what?” Another Drac responded, sounding as apathetic and dead as any Drac usually did when they spoke.  
“I thought I heard…I guess not. We’d better get back, those desert dogs are going to speak up soon and they want us in position.”  
“You got it,” The Drac’s partner agreed, sounding nearly identical. The shuffling disappeared, but Pete waited a few extra seconds just in case before he was pushing Andy away just enough to grab his communicator and turn the light on.  
“Pete!” Travie snapped, “You’ll give us away!”  
“Andy’s hurt,” Pete got out, shining the light in the general area of Andy’s hip. Dark stains matted the material of Andy’s shirt, a big cloud of blood marking where he’d been injured and bleeding and not saying a word about it.  
“Andy, what happened,” Pete demanded, pulling his shirt up to get a better look, “This isn’t good, man.”  
“Nothing happened,” Andy flinched away from Pete’s probing touch, then held himself still, “After you went down, someone threw a blade, and it hit me.”  
“You jumped in front of me,” Pete guessed, eyes glancing over the bloody blade in Andy’s fist. Pete had thought it had been Andy’s originally, but maybe the blood on it wasn’t Better Living, after all.  
“Yeah,” Andy admitted, wincing when Pete pressed down on the wound, “But we don’t have time for this. Let’s focus on getting -” he cut himself off with an agonized loss of air. Pete kept pressure on the wound and glanced around quickly.  
“Gabe, your belt.”  
Gabe removed it without hesitation and Pete pulled his jacket off so he could yank his shirt over his head and press it to Andy’s wounds.  
“Pete,” Andy tried to push his hand away but Pete just smacked at him until he let up. Gabe helped him secure the belt around Andy’s torso, holding the balled up shirt in place for the moment.  
“What are we gonna do?” Travie whispered, moving to help settle Andy against the crate behind him. Pete looked them all over carefully and tried to think. Without a doubt, he was useless. It was all he could do to move properly to buckle the belt, let alone fight. Without Sandman in his head, his body felt four sizes too big, four sizes to light for him to maneuver properly, and he was still dizzy from whatever cocktail they’d pumped into him. A quick look into his shared space, and he could see - just in the corners - where the glass was beginning to crack. He wasn’t banging on it anymore, but he held no doubt that Sandman was. He was calmer, now, Andy injured and Patrick a firm picture in his head. He had to be strong for the people he cared about, for the people that trusted in him - Travie, and Andy, and Gabe. He was calmer and he could think, straight enough to know that the glass wouldn’t hold for much longer and he just had to last until Sandman could help him.  
His friends, on the other hand, were worse for wear. Andy couldn’t move anymore, and that was obvious. He’d already aggravated his wound enough, pushing and shoving Pete around, taking care of him instead of taking care of himself, and Pete knew Andy would fight to the death, but he wanted to avoid that at all costs.  
Travie and Gabe, on the other hand, looked comparatively better - less bleeding stab wounds and more scrapes and bruises. Travie looked like he could stand to fight a few more BL scum and Pete hadn’t watched Gabe in a real life battle enough to know exactly where his limits were yet, but he looked at least on par with Travie, for the moment.  
Two out’ta four wasn’t bad, if Pete thought about it real hard.  
“With Andy out of commission -”  
“I’m not -” Andy snapped, outraged, but Pete just covered his mouth.  
"With Andy out of commission,” Pete said, more firmly, “And me all loopy like this, it’d be up to you two to fight us out, and I’m just not confident that you can do it while also supporting Andy and I. We’ll have to sneak. Travie, you think you can handle carrying Andy?”  
“No problem,” Travie nodded, eyes cutting to Andy for just a few seconds, “But what about you?”  
“Gabe will help me,” Pete spared a glance at Gabe, “Right?”  
“No problem,” Gabe copied Travie, only a little tilted towards them so he could keep an ear out for approaching enemy.  
“With the way those pigs were talking, there’s a few more in here than we were up against with the patrol. Hopefully, none of them are Vixen, or we’re a little bit fucked.”  
“A little bit,” Andy hissed out a breath, pushing Pete’s hand off him, “This is insane.”  
“It’s all we got,” Pete shrugged, “You ready to go? You can’t make a noise, so you might want to find something to bite.”  
Andy grit his teeth, but looked around anyway. Eventually, Pete took Andy’s knife and cut off the access belt for Andy to roll up and stick between his teeth. It would do his jaw no favors, but he could work those aches out once they made it out of the warehouse, alive.  
“Ready?” Travie hesitated, hands hovering over Andy’s shoulders. “I’m gonna have to potato sack you.”  
“Have you ever actually seen a whole sack of potatoes?” Andy got out, trying or humor. Travie cracked a faint smile at the joke, let Andy bite into the belt, and slung him over his shoulder as carefully as he could. Andy barely held back his scream, fingers digging into Travie’s hip.  
“Okay,” Pete closed his eyes, looked at Gabe one last time for confirmation of the all clear, and stood up. When he wasn’t crouching, the crates barely went up to his shoulders and left him wide open to being spotted, so he wanted to take as little time as he could helping Travie up and over the crates and into the walkway. Gabe helped him up next and it was there, Gabe still in their little nest of protection, Pete kneeling on the crate and Travie and Andy in plain view, that the speaker system crackled loud and clear like static, and came to life.  
“ **Gabriel**?”  
It was a soft voice, quiet and feminine and with a steel backbone that instantly had Pete on alert.  
 _Those desert dogs are going to speak up soon._  
Those desert dogs who knew Gabe’s name.  
“ **Gabriel, listen to me. You know who this is.** ”  
“Who?” Pete frowned, looking back to Gabe. Gabe stared upwards, like the voice was right above him, the color drained from his face.  
“ _M-Madre_...i-it’s my mom,” Gabe choked out. Pete nearly fell off the crate, his hand spasming on Gabe’s shoulder.  
“Your _mom_?”  
“She’s dead,” Travie nearly demanded, “That’s what you said, Saporta,”  
“I thought she _was_ ,” Gabe grabbed Pete’s hand on his shoulder, “Why would I be all alone in the desert if my family weren’t dead? Why would I leave my camp if I had even a single doubt that any of them had survived?”  
“Guys, we need to _go,_ ” Pete demanded, trying to jump off the crate. The speaker nearly drown him out, though, as the women’s voice continued.  
“ **Gabriel, listen to me. The boys you are with are very dangerous, and not our employers. Do you understand me? Now, listen closely. _Traédmelo, Gabriel, this Sujeto Cero-Cero-Uno. Traédmelo y todos nos podemos ir a casa._** ”  
“What did she say?” Andy grunted, shoving himself up on Travie’s back, “Saporta, what the fuck did she say?”  
“She,” Gabe waved a little, “She said that I need to bring Pete to her. At least, I think she’s talking about Pete. Subject...Subject Zero-Zero-One. If I bring him, you, to her, we can go home.”  
“Home?” Pete frowned, trying to ignore the stutter in his chest. He hadn’t been called that in so long, he’d nearly forgotten about it. Once, before he’d been rescued, that was all he’d known himself as. “I thought…”  
“I did, too.” Gabe shook his head, “But, even if she’s right, I can’t bring you to her. They have her, Better Living. If I bring you to them, I’ll never regain my honor.”  
“Honor?” Travie scoffed, “Honor, in _this_ city?”  
“ **Oh, _querido_ ,**” the voice cooed over the speakers, echoing in the wide, tall walls of the warehouse, “ **You must be so scared, _querido_ , so confused, but you must trust me. Bring me the boy, and all will be forgiven. Your honor, your...slip in loyalty. _Perdonado. Hazlo por mí, querida._** _”_  
“Pardoned?” Gabe repeated quietly, “Just...just like that?”  
Pete felt the glass in his mind beginning to shatter and it brought a new feeling of weakness to his knees. “Guys,” he started, “Guys, I can feel Sandman coming back.”  
“Pete,” Travie said tightly, not sounding nearly as pleased about Pete’s discover as Pete, “Come here.”  
“I can’t on my own,” Pete frowned, testing his weight on his feet for just a moment before he lost balance, “Just give us a second, Gabe’s a little shaky, man.”  
“ _Pete_ ,” Andy snapped, a little too desperate for Pete to not pay attention, “Travie means it. _Come. Here._ ”  
Pete sighed, carefully trying to stand again. He almost made it, but was forced back down. Gabe hadn’t removed his hand from Pete’s shoulder.  
“Gabe?” Pete frowned, “What’s wrong?”  
Gabe squeezed Pete’s shoulder and Pete watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.  
“I,” Pete strained to hear Gabe speak, “I mean,”  
“Saporta,” Travie raised his free arm, showed his palm in a sign of surrender, “Please. Just let him go.”  
Pete glanced between them, frowning, “Travie, what,”  
“I’m so sorry,” Gabe leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Pete’s shoulder from behind. Pete frowned harder.  
“Gabe, what the hell are you even,”  
A knife tip, sharp but gentle, pressed against his throat, and Pete stopped talking. He felt his face go blank. “Oh.”  
“Gabe,” Travie nearly begged, trying to appeal, “Please, just let him go. The three of us can go, you can find your mom, or you can come with us and we’ll help you rescue her. I swear, we will, but please, let Pete go.”  
“I’m so sorry,” Gabe coughed, “I don’t want to, but I have to.”  
“Saporta,” Andy started to struggle, “Saporta, if you hurt a fucking hair on his head, I swear to every god there is that I’ll hunt you down and strangle you with your own fucking cobra!”  
Gabe followed Pete over the crate, knife never digging in enough to break skin but at a constant threat level high enough to keep Travie far away from him, and wrapped an arm around his waist to create a shield out of Pete.  
“I’m sorry, guys.” Gabe repeated, “I -”  
“Bull fucking shit,” Andy nearly beat Travie in two, trying to get out of his arms, “You just wait until I can get my hands on you, you slimy piece of shit, I’ll fucking _gut you_ -”  
Gabe took his chance while Travie was distracted setting Andy on a crate to shove a small pile of smaller wooden boxes over, cutting Travie and Andy off from the two of them. Gabe started running, pulling Pete behind him hard enough that it was either run with him or fall and be dragged. Pete was disoriented, woozy and unbalanced as they raced towards the bright light that signified where Gabe’s mom and - presumably - Better Living stood. Sandman was shattering the glass pane between them, and Pete could hear his enraged screaming, but he wasn’t being careful about it and Pete was reduced to hiding under his bed, holding the pillow to his chest and hiding his face from the glass shards. It was terrifying, being stuck in the room while Sandman raged like a monster, like the monster Better Living had made him out to be.  
Pete was scared. He was scared, and it wasn’t just of Sandman. He couldn’t defend himself, if he’d been wrong about Gabe. He didn’t _feel_ like he was though, and he didn’t feel like trusting Gabe was a mistake, even as he was dragged down walkway after walkway, closer to Better Living. He trusted Gabe with _Patrick_ , and if Gabe thought that this was a good idea...well, this mission had been to prove that Gabe was trustworthy, after all. It was a little more of a hands-on approach than Pete had been expecting, but…  
The only problem was that Andy was injured, hurt really bad, and Pete didn’t want this to go on for too long. Travie and Andy wouldn’t leave without him, but with how much blood Andy had lost, it would be dangerous if they stuck around too much longer.  
The light was blinding, when Pete was pulled directly into it. It looked like a huge flashlight, mounted onto a rolling grid so it could be easily moved along the concrete of the warehouse floor, through the walkways of crates and boxes, and it was _too bright_.  
Even Gabe tried to block it, until his eyes were able to adjust to it properly.  
“ _Ma_?” He called, sounding unsure and just hopeful enough that Pete knew he didn’t expect anything good. For all that Gabe had fronted, talked about not being upset because his family had only returned to the Sand, he had been mourning them from the moment he woke up and this was all the proof that Pete needed to know that.  
“Gabriel,” A woman stepped into the light, just a black figure for a few seconds, until the universe settled around her and she became a sight to them. She was tall and thin, like Gabe, with skin darker than Gabe’s and eyes a lot less open and kind. She wore white, stained with the browned reds of an attack that happened weeks ago, but her skin had been scrubbed clean and her hair had been twisted into a severe knot at the back of her head. “You brought him for me.”  
Behind her, a man and two teenagers stood in similar dress. The boy and girl wore clothes similar to Gabe’s from when Pete had first found them, and Pete realized that they must be Gabe’s _family_ , the Saporta crew - or, at least, part of it.  
“No,” Gabe shook his head, “I need him, _madre_. He stole my life from me when I was in the desert and, until I repay him, I am his. He has my honor.”  
She shook her head, smiling sweetly, “ _Querido_ , I told you. You’ve brought him to me and all is forgiven.”  
Gabe went limp, for just a moment he nearly dropped to the ground, but Pete didn’t think for a second that it was from relief.  
“You’re saying my honor holds no value.”  
“Oh, _mi dulce niño_ ,” She held out her hand, “Of course your honor matters, but this is a job. We’ve been paid in full, and we must deliver.”  
“Our creed,” Gabe stared at the floor, “ _Honor antes de la sangre, sangre antes de la falla._ ”  
“Honor before the blood,” She nodded her head, but something about it was just _wrong_ , “Blood before failure.”  
“Since when,” Gabe pulled the knife he’d been holding to Pete’s neck away, let his arm drop limply to his side, “Has a job come before keeping our honor intact, _madre_?”  
Her face contorted, going from sweet to livid in the span of a single second.  
She started to shout, and more white materialized from around them, white suits and vampire masks, and the occasional black, leather skirt, until they were nearly surrounded by what Pete could count to be a little under twenty operatives. Gabe’s mom, or what Better Living had turned her body into, took a step towards them and Pete felt the last of the glass finally fall away - leaving in its place a near ballistic Sandman. Pete curled up tighter under his bed and tried to suffocate himself in his arms  
“Run,” Pete groaned out, doubling over and gripping hard at his suddenly pounding head, “Gabe, run!”  
“Pete,” Gabe stumbled a step back, “Pete, that isn’t my mom. She isn’t my mom, that’s not my family,”  
“ _Sandman is coming_ ,” Pete hissed, grabbing Gabe’s wrist and yanking him down so he could be heard, “Listen to me, Sandman is coming and he’ll _kill you_ , so _run_ ,”  
“Run?” Gabe shook his head, “Run _where_?”  
“Away,” Pete got out, shoving Gabe away from him suddenly, “Find Travie and Andy, get them out of the warehouse, _go_ , Gabe!”  
Gabe, near tears, went. The women who was not his mother went after him.  
Pete, finally, was able to give in and crawled out of his bed. He laid on his mattress, curled up in the thick comforter and felt Sandman crawl over him, melt into the shadows and coat Pete like a second skin.  
The five white masks, who had gathered around Pete after he’d fallen to the ground, prostrate on the concrete floor, were _the first to meet their end._  
 _Sandman hadn’t even been paying attention to the fight, which was the reason the dart had even made it through his defenses. Of course he’d known there had been another party, one that none of the little shits’ had found, but he’d never expected to be let down by all three bodyguards, and then Pete himself._  
 _The glass was the first in a long list of things which had royally pissed him off. Pete, slamming into it as hard as Sandman was, screaming silently through the clear wall and looking **too scared** , was the second. He tried hurling the bed frame into the wall, slamming his fist into the glass until his bones break and the skin of his knuckles was so blackened with bruise that he couldn’t tell when the black of his figure faded into the black of bruise._  
 _He didn’t know how long he fought after the blackness overtook the window, leaving him blind and alone and without the body he’d grown into for the last decade - without **Pete** , but it was for an eternity, to him._  
 _The glass didn’t shatter under his touch like he was used to, it barely even shuddered. The fact that he couldn’t **break the fucking thing** pissed him off all the more and the longer it took for the first cracks to appear around the edges, the less control Sandman could keep. He wasn’t **there** , he wasn’t there with Pete, protecting him and their body, making sure nothing was going on that Pete couldn’t handle. He wasn’t there to make sure they were safe, and it was all this stupid fucking wall’s fault and when he broke through it, he would shatter every last shard into a million little pieces and then grind every last one of them into Pete’s stupid fucking face so he understood that if he ever stopped paying attention again, Sandman would do it in the real world too._  
 _When he finally broke through, when he finally coaxed Pete from his tight ball under his bunk, when he’d wrapped Pete in a blanket to warm his trembling soul and then melted himself onto Pete, became the shield, the armor, the weapon he was so he could keep himself, and his human, safe, he settled for breaking that bright fucking flashlight and using it to carve his fury into the dead flesh of Better Living trash._  
 _He could **smell** the fear of the desert boy, Saporta, and he was tempted to go after him, to track him down and tear out his intestines and force them down his throat, feeding him his own guts until he finally bled out. He was tempted to follow the fear stench that led to the apprentices, find them and dig his fingers into the hole in Pete’s precious best friend’s gut and then shove his whole fist into it, open it wide up and let the blood pool just enough that he could crack the tall one’s back in half and then drown him in it. He wanted to destroy them, find Yeezus and the Young Blood hideout and burn it to the ground - with every last soul inside **screaming** for his mercy._  
 _Pete’s tears at the very thought, the pain receptors still working in the zombie flesh under his nails and glass shards, and the euphony of terrorized, agonized screams were the only things that kept him at bay._  
 _He felt a slight tingle on his shoulder and he understood it to be a shot, the kind of blast that came from a weak desert gun, but his rage was so powerful that he felt nothing but a slight burn until he was able to heal himself._  
 _Flesh gave under his fingertips, under his jagged glass, and he buried himself in the warmth of barely living muscle and organ, bathed himself in the cool blood and drank of it. He felt a sharp pinch on his shoulder, and it finally drew him away from his latest victim, and onto the next, where he chose to drag words and symbols into the bared stomach before him, taking such joy in the shrieks of agony. Under his touch, he felt Pete withering - scared and upset and sobbing so very, very much._  
 _Sandman wished he could take the same pleasure in Pete crying that he took in the cries of others. Instead, Pete’s tears brought him down from his killing high and Sandman was forced to end it early, bring the glass down into her heart and leave it there to do its job while he rounded up the last of his chosen brood to dispose of._  
Sandman, _Pete sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself. Sandman, coating Pete’s body with his own shadow as he was, felt the embrace and nearly turned from it._ Sandman, I was so scared,  
Pete, _Sandman finally broke, letting himself seep from Pete’s skin like a slime and reform under the bed. Pete dangled his hand, unafraid of the monster under the mattress, and Sandman allowed himself to reach out and take it._ You’re okay?  
I’m okay, _Pete sniffed, sounding far too upset for Sandman’s taste. This was why he preferred for Pete to sleep while he had his fun. Pete was so...down about it, and it was like a brick tied to Sandman’s foot while he tried to fly high._  
They didn’t hurt you?  
They wanted to, _Pete shrugged a little and Sandman let himself be pulled from under the bed, pulled into Pete’s space so Pete could curl into his arms and reassure himself that Sandman was there. The words were the closest Sandman would get to a pardon for what he’d been doing, and he took it._  
 _Sandman didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t stop touching Pete either. Like Pete, Sandman couldn’t remember a damned thing before he’d woken up in that darkness, all alone and screaming into an empty and slowly shrinking void. Until he’d found Pete, floating aimlessly, crying out for his life, he’d been alone and helpless and so very, very lonely. He couldn’t remember a time where Pete wasn’t there, where the body they shared wasn’t their body, and the mind they shared wasn’t **their mind**. Having that, having Pete, ripped away from him, so suddenly and without a hint of assurance that they would be reunited, it had sent him into a state of absolute and total terror. For all that he kept Pete strong, kept him alive, Pete kept Sandman as close to happy as Sandman could ever be. Pete was a **part** of Sandman. A part of him that he didn’t always like, didn’t always **want** , but would always and forever **need**._  
We’re okay, _Pete finally breathed, his tears slowing,_ We’re okay and it’s gone now.  
It won’t happen again, _Sandman swore, his sharp nails digging deep into Pete’s arms,_ If you ever let your guard down like that again, Pete, I swear to every god you know that I will grind your skull to bits.  
I won’t, _Pete shook his head hard. His nails weren’t nearly long enough to do the damage that Sandman’s could, but they seemed to be trying, digging into the skin along his shoulder and neck._ I promise, I won’t.  
 _With that promise, Sandman felt himself relax. The bloodlust of before still brewed, as it always did, but he’d been appeased enough for the moment, and didn’t mind just lying in the bed, next to his other half, and just breathing together._  
I have to find my friends, _Pete muttered,_ Did you hurt them?  
With your caterwauling, _Sandman scoffed in irritation,_ I couldn’t even finish my fun with those jokes who attacked us.  
Thank you, _Pete smiled just a tiny bit, glancing up at him through tears and fingers._  
Shut up and go home, Pete. _Sandman snapped back. Still, he ran his hand through Pete’s hair as Pete blinked back into_ reality _._  
Pete took a few deep breaths and stood up from the body he’d been sitting on, wiping his hands on his pants and trying to ignore that the action hadn’t helped at all because his pants were absolutely soaked in blood. Sandman had broken the flashlight, but Sandman was _awake_ now and Pete could see everything nearly as clearly as if it had been day. He sidestepped bodies, tried not to look too closely at them, and only had to bend over and retch everything in his stomach up against a crate once on the way. He made it out of the bloodbath relatively unscathed, even the burns from the zaps already beginning to disappear, and tried to focus on finding his friends. Where his body had previously felt so very big, it felt tailored back into proper size with Sandman back in place, just big enough for the two of them. The perfect size for him to move with silent steps, to navigate the walkways and try to hear where the others had gotten to, in control of himself as much as he ever was.  
It was only a few walkways, sharp turns, and towering piles of crates later that he heard the sounds of a fight and remembered Gabe’s not-mom had run after him.  
He picked up his pace, but he couldn’t move much faster than he’d already been going. Even with his fast healing, someone had gotten a good hit in and his right leg was rigid, unbendable unless he wanted to deal with a sharp flare of white-hot pain shooting up from his knee.  
He wasn’t as fast as he wished he could be, but he was fast enough to come upon the first body - the still form of a woman in white, stained with the browned reds of an attack that happened weeks ago.  
“If she’s here,” He frowned, trying to thin, “Who’s…oh _shit_ ,”  
He nearly slipped in the blood pooled around her, caught himself on a crate, and used it to propel himself farther until he had fallen into a slightly cleared area where his friends were fighting each other.  
“Andy!” He shouted, giving the blade so close to Gabe’s throat just enough hesitation that Gabe was able to twist out of Travie’s hold, kick Andy’s arm away, and scramble across the floor to safety.  
“I’m done waiting, Pete!” Andy yelled back, twisting the blade in his hand and pointing it at Pete in warning, “You just won’t fucking _see_ , Pete, that this kid is too fucking _dangerous_ and if you won’t protect yourself, then I’ll do it for you!”  
“Andy, please,” Pete took a step closer, “You don’t understand,”  
“Fuck you!” Andy nearly hurled his knife at Pete, “Fuck you so _fucking hard_ , Pete Wentz! I won’t let anyone take my family away from me again, do you understand me!? I _won’t do it again_! Fuck you and fuck _Kobra Kid_ and his _stupid_ , _naive_ , _piece of shit_ life lesson, and fuck you, _again_ , for almost letting it get you killed!”  
“Andy,” Pete tried to sooth, “It’s okay. I’m fine. Look at me, I’m barely injured. None of this is mine, I swear.”  
Travie cracked his knuckles, looking far more angry than Pete had ever seen.  
“Andy’s right, Wentz. We warned you, and you let this go too far. I’m not losing my best friend to Better Living like I lost my brother. Got it? If that means going against you and taking this motherfucker out, so be it.”  
“Look,” Pete offered both hands, “As the one who was almost sacrificed, I think I have the right to find out what the hell was going on in his head. So back off, okay? Just let me talk to him. I need to _understand this_ , guys. Please.”  
Andy, still breathing too hard, slowly moved his knife from Pete to Gabe. Pete followed it and glanced over Gabe’s form, taking inventory of injuries.  
His chest was moving too fast, his breathing hard and labored and his skin and closed stained with blood. He had various nicks and cuts, all proof that he’d escaped Andy’s wrath only barely for however long they’d been fighting, and Pete could make out bruising and a broken nose - no doubt a gift from Travie’s dangerous bloody knuckles. Still, he’d held his own and he was alive, and that was all Pete needed for the moment.  
He approached carefully, hands still up.  
“I just want to talk, Gabe.”  
“I’m _sorry_ ,” Gabe said immediately, not even moving into a more defensive position than the sprawl he’d landed in after avoiding Andy’s death blow, “I’m _so sorry_ ,”  
“I get that,” Pete nodded, stopping a few feet away. He was between his friends and Gabe, a barrier they’d already made clear wouldn’t stand a chance of protecting Gabe from their fury.  
“I - I just, I saw the dart and I thought...I thought, maybe, but then...then I heard her and - and I had to know. I had to know, Pete, I’m sorry but I -”  
“I understand,” Pete nodded, ignoring Andy’s outraged noise behind him, “I get that. You had to see if your family was still alive.”  
“I had to,” Gabe nodded, closing his eye and shifting onto his knees, “I just had to...but she...she wasn’t… _they_ weren’t,”  
“She wasn’t your mom,” Pete nodded, slowly kneeling in front of Gabe, “She was Better Living.”  
“They must have,” Gabe licked his lips, eyes darting to different part of the concrete under him, from his hands - bloody from the woman on the ground nearby, probably - to Pete’s knees, “But that means…That means I’m the last. I - You,” he looked up at Pete, tears bursting from him so suddenly it almost made Pete fall back, “You have to know I didn’t intend to sacrifice you. My family would never forsake honor, not even for a mission. _Honor antes de la sangre, sangre antes de la falla._ But...but it wasn’t my family.”  
“Because she said she’d accept you without your honor in exchange for me.” Pete realized, fighting the urge to take Gabe’s hand. No matter what Travie and Andy thought, he knew he could trust Gabe. That Gabe was his friend. Gabe was his friend, and he was in pain, and Pete wanted to be there for him.  
“And I knew that,” Gabe covered his face, not even caring that he was smearing the blood on his face, mixing the Saporta expy’s blood with his own. “I knew that, but I had to _know._ ”  
“I understand,” Pete promised, glancing over his shoulder at Andy and Travie. Andy’s knife had lowered.  
“I - I’m the last and I’ll never see them again.” Gabe sobbed out, shaking his head.  
“I thought they returned to the Sand,” Pete tried to comfort, only for Gabe to cry out like he’d been hit.  
He screamed his pain, making Pete flinch, and nearly keeled over, covering his face in his arms and beginning to cry in earnest.  
“I’ve lost _everything,_ ” he choked, “It’s all gone. The Saporta crew is _gone,_ my _family,_ and I’ll never see them again, not if they didn’t die in the Sands. They won’t be returned if they didn’t die in the Sands!”  
Pete hovered his hand over Gabe, unsure of how to respond. His fingertips brushed Gabe’s shoulder, and Gabe went still.  
“You should kill me,” Gabe set up, looking at Pete with a wild look in in his eye. Though the tears still came, it was almost like Gabe had stopped noticing, suddenly enthralled with his new idea. “Pete, you should kill me.”  
“ _Kill you_!?” Pete snatched his hand away, “Gabe, no!”  
“What’s the point of living if I’ll never see my family again, Pete?” Gabe begged, “Why am I alive when the people I love aren’t? What do I have to _live for_ if not for them? I...I’m alone now, Pete. A Saporta was never meant to be alone, and I’ll be alone forever.”  
“You aren’t alone,” Pete grabbed Gabe’s hand, squeezing it as tight as he could “Gabe, you aren’t alone.”  
Gabe shook his head, clenching his eyes closed tight, “I don’t want to be alive without my family, Pete.”  
“Then make a new one.”  
Pete snapped his head up, nearly as shocked as Gabe to see Andy standing over them, leaning against Travie and staring at Gabe with little sympathy.  
“You don’t want to live for yourself? Fine. Find someone or something else, and live for them. Your family died in the desert, stop crying about it. They’ve returned, or whatever. Better Living wouldn’t drag them still living into the city, and then turn them into pigs. Rest assured, they met their end in the Sand.”  
“That bitch was nothin’ more than a Drac without a mask, and that’s when they’re actually dangerous, Saporta.” Travie frowned, glancing over his shoulder towards where her body was still laying, just out of sight.  
Pete looked back to Gabe, squeezed his fingers until Gabe uncraned his neck and met his eye.  
“Your family was returned to the Sand,” He promised him, “I swear to you, they’re waiting. But you can’t go to them without your honor, can you?”  
Gabe, shocked, shook his head slowly.  
“Well, that belongs to me.” Pete stood up and brushed his knees off. Gabe followed his movements, still looking almost pitifully surprised. “And I’m never going to give it back. I’m never going to cash in that life debt you owe me, and that means that - until there’s no strength left in you to fight for life, until the breathe can’t return to your lungs - you belong by my side.”  
“With us.” Andy crossed his arms, managing to look imposing even as viciously bloody and weak as he was. “You belong with us.”  
“That’s right,” Pete confirmed. “You’re one of us. I’ll take care of you. I’ll believe in you, just like you need to be. I haven’t lost faith in you yet, not even when you had me at knifepoint, and I’ll never lose faith in you, as long as you promise me that you’ll live and breathe for me.”  
“I’ll follow you.” Gabe agreed quietly, slowly wiping his eyes, “I’ll follow you, until you don’t need me.”  
“Good.” Pete smiled, “Because, with my plans, I’ll never _not_ need you. You focus on following me, and not getting killed. You swear?”  
He reached out his hand and Gabe reached up and grabbed it, blood and blood and tears meeting between their palms.  
“I swear.”  
Pete pulled Gabe up, looked him over again, and turned to Andy.  
“You fucked your side up.”  
“Shut the fuck up,” Andy snapped, throwing himself into Pete with little regard for his own side or Pete’s leg. Pete caught him, having expected it, and they hugged each other as tight as they could with their various wounds.  
Pete felt the warmth of tears on his shoulder and just hugged him even tighter - fuck flesh wounds.  
“He took you,” Andy muttered into his bloody shirt, “He took you and I couldn’t protect you. I failed.”  
“You didn’t,” Pete shook his head, rubbing Andy’s back - the place where Andy’s scar was. Where a Drac had stabbed a long pole through a pile of dead bodies and hadn’t bothered continuing after he’d met resistance five bodies down.  
“You were going to be taken, and I couldn’t even -”  
“I’m right here.” Pete reassured him, pushing Andy away by the shoulders just enough to look him in the eyes. “I’m right here, and so are you. That means you didn’t fail.”  
Andy didn’t look convinced, so Pete grabbed his wrist tightly. After a few moments’ hesitation, Andy twisted his own hand and gripped Pete’s wrist in return.  
Andy settled, Pete grinned at Travie and raised an eyebrow.  
“Anything you want to confess, Travie?”  
“You’re a stupid fuck, Wentz.” Travie scoffed. He still pulled Pete into a one armed hug, though, and shoved him away with only half the usual strength.  
“Come on, guys. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”  
“What do we tell Yeezus?” Andy frowned, “We can’t tell them Gabe’s a Saporta, Beyoncé will flip her shit.”  
“We’ll tell them…” Pete thought, frowning.  
 _Just tell them the new market place was compromised and you took care of the threat._ Sandman sighed, tapping a random rhythm against Pete’s side.  
 _Good idea, Sandman!_ Pete grinned.  
“We’ll tell them that we took out a threat to the new market place.”  
“Yeezus will still be pissed,” Travie pointed out.  
“But not like he’d be if we told him we’d been hiding an assassin in his midst.” Pete pointed out.  
“He’s not an assassin,” Andy corrected before Gabe could, sending Gabe a careful, but otherwise non-hostile glance, “He’d never been hired to kill someone in his life.”  
Gabe grinned at him, uninhibited.  
“Andy knows what he’s talking about,” He agreed, looking around, “Now, I think the way out is this way…”  
-  
Yeezus was beyond pissed, but Gabe kept his secret, and they only were punished with a few weeks bathroom duty, so it could have been worse.  
“See, Patrick?” Pete smiled at the small screen a few days later, sitting alone in the dark room and watching Patrick pretending to work on his holopad. “I told you we’d all be friends.”  
 _You’re so weird_ , Sandman commented, amused.  
 _Shut up,_ Pete gave him the bird, _You’re the one who keeps following him home._  
 _That’s different,_ Sandman protested, _I swear, there are Dracs watching him._  
 _Of course there are Dracs watching him,_ Pete rolled his eyes. _He lives in the middle of Battery City._  
Still, when Pete went back to watching the screen, he kept an even more careful eye out for Dracs paying a little too much attention to his favorite Battery City resident.  
-  
“Okay,” Gabe settled into his usual seat at the table, dropping his tray of food onto the slanted table top and piercing a piece of fruit with a bent up fork, “So, I met this kid.”  
“My favorite way of starting a conversation,” Travie raised an eyebrow, stealing some of Gabe’s fruit and popping it into his mouth. Gabe retaliated by pulling a piece of his bread off and chewing it up before Travie could stop him. His eye, long since healed to near perfection, followed Travie’s striking hand carefully for a few seconds until Travie seemingly gave up.  
“What kid?” Pete asked curiously, slapping at the papers Andy was trying to get him to sign.  
“Her name is Vicky-T,” Gabe spoke around his fruit and bread, “She’s like ten, but the point is she has scars like me and Nate.”  
“Scars?” Pete frowned, “What do you mean?”  
“I mean, she was attacked by Cobra bots, too. I’m gonna ask her if she wants to join our fighting class.”  
“You’re fighting class consists of Nate and yourself,” Andy pointed out, scraping the last of his limp salad together so he could eat it all in one bite, “It’s a pretty exclusive club.”  
“There aren’t exactly a bunch of kids with Cobra scars runnin’ around,” Gabe pointed out, “Besides, both of her dependents are going into medical.”  
“Will she be able to keep her mouth shut about it, do you think?”  
“I think anything that gives her the chance to get stronger is on the top of her 'Keep Secret' list. I mean, I'm teaching them the style of _el Cobra._ How much stronger could she want to get?"  
“Oh, wait,” Andy snapped his fingers, “You mean Victoria. She was one of our street kids, remember, Pete?”  
“Oh, shit,” Pete frowned, “I thought she’d…”  
“No,” Andy shook his head and pointed at Gabe, “Obviously she’s okay. That’s great, Pete. I was worried about what would happen to her.”  
Pete nodded, giving in and signing the paper where Andy demanded, "Sounds good to me. How's Nate doing, anyway?"  
"He's the fuckin' cutest," Gabe admitted. "I love him and he makes great bread."  
"He's coming along as a cook," Andy agreed, "I'm just glad he took to it so well. Snoop took your Victoria's girl, Greta, as his new apprentice."  
"He's gaining confidence," Travie pointed out, "Learning how to fight is really letting him bloom."  
"He's a fighter," Gabe smirked, "Natural talent. He and Vicky-T are gonna be so badass."  
"Well, keep that badassitude on the down low," Pete ducked his head, "Don't get caught, got it?"  
"Promise," Gabe held up a hand, "Anyway, how's that kid you found?"  
"He's great," Pete enthused, sitting up straight, "His name is Joe. His arm was broken and he was pretty starved, but he's A-Okay, otherwise."  
"I'm going to invite him into our _Orphans Saved By Pete_ club," Andy mentioned, making Pete elbow him. Gabe laughed, smirking.  
"At the rate that club is growing, we might have to pick a clubhouse. This table won't manage much more."  
"It isn't my fault I'm aces at this whole 'find and rescue' thing."  
"Maybe if you stopped going out alone, you’d stop finding kids to pick up,” Travie offered, accepting Andy’s saltine with grace when it was offered to him. Pete scoffed at him and shoved the last of his own food into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously.  
“You make it sound like he’s using us for nefarious purposes,” Gabe laughed, patting Pete’s back awkwardly when he started choking on his bread.  
“Well, he’s kind of staffing his eventual revolution inside a revolutionary group with us, so there’s that.” Andy pointed out, amused despite his best efforts, “If you’re looking to fill your ranks, I’d suggest upping the age requirement, Pete. Ten year olds aren’t exactly known for their fighting skills.”  
“They will be when I’m through with them,” Gabe bragged, “None of you have seen the style I’ve been developing.”  
“Because you aren’t allowed on patrols anymore,” Pete raised an eyebrow, “Or have you forgotten.”  
“I think,” Travie broke in, “That it’s bullshit that you and Andy can still go out but Gabe and I are confined.”  
“Andy only gets to leave because he’s my bodyguard,” Pete smirked, “And I have to go with Beyoncé now, so it isn’t like we got off lightly.”  
“Bullshit,” Travie still protested.  
“So what you’re saying,” A new voice broke in, “Is that if I want to fight Better Living for real, I have to be your bodyguard.”  
“Who the fuck is this?” Gabe blinked, looking over Pete’s shoulder at their new arrival. Pete hadn’t even heard Joe coming up, but it was only to be expected. Pete had yet to meet a class of people quieter and better at sneaking than the kids of Battery City’s streets.  
“Pete’s new bodyguard,” Joe shoved between Andy and Pete and settled onto the bench, sticking his unslung arm across the table for Gabe to shake, “Joe Trohman.”  
“Trohman, huh?” Travie raised an eyebrow and shook his hand because he knew Gabe wouldn’t any time soon. “What’s your story then?”  
“Story?” Joe frowned, “I mean, I was hungry and my arm hurt so Pete brought me here.”  
Travie didn’t try to dig any deeper.  
“Excuse me,” Andy turned his usual stare onto Joe and it only made Joe blink back at him, all bushy brown hair and puppy eyes. Andy wasn’t swayed much, but Joe had managed to sway him _just enough_ to get his tone to warm from its usual glacial coolness to a frosty breeze, “You can’t just declare yourself the bodyguard of Yeezus’ son. That isn’t how it works.”  
“Well,” Pete smiled, leaning his arm on Joe’s shoulder and perching his chin in the, frankly monstrous, mass of hair atop Joe’s head, “To be fair, it worked just fine for you.”  
“Because I’m dedicated,” Andy sniffed, “You showed up two days ago and your arm is broken, kid.”  
“Don’t call me kid,” Joe frowned, “I beat I could kick your ass.”  
Gabe ‘ooh’ed and took Andy’s betrayed glare gracefully.  
“I won’t even pretend that you’re an actual threat to me,” Andy scoffed, but he looked Joe over, “But…”  
“ _But_?” Pete blinked, sitting up.  
“ _But,_ ” Andy continued, “You look like you’ve got potential.”  
“Potential?” Travie’s jaw dropped, “You don’t even think Gabe or I have _potential_ ,”  
“That’s because you don’t,” Andy rolled his eyes, “You’re more likely to be in on Pete’s stupidity than actively discouraging it and Gabe rolls with everything he wants at the drop of a hat. Joe, on the other hand, looks like he could hold his own against Wentz.”  
“You act like I’m a kid,” Pete complained, crossing his arms.  
Andy gave his newly crossed arms an unsubtle glance, and Pete dropped them to the table with a muttered ‘fuckhead.’  
“So, what does that mean?” Joe got them back on track, “That I have potential? Does that mean I get to fight Better Living? Because I know how to fight. I just threw a bad punch, that’s all this is.”  
He lifted his slinged arm a little, trying to move it around until Pete carefully caught his elbow and made him keep it still.  
“It means I’ll show you how to stop throwing bad punches so shit like that won’t happen again,” Andy sighed, “Now, stop moving it around so much before you fuck it up for real.”  
“Seriously?” Joe perked up, looking too excited for what Pete knew Andy had in store for a pupil of his own, “You’ll teach me how to fight? And how to protect people?”  
“No,” Andy frowned, eyes darting to Pete, “I’m going to teach you how to protect _Pete_. That’s completely different. Rule number one, kid - Pete comes first, before anyone else.”  
Pete laughed, trying to shake off the sudden awkwardness on his shoulders, “Oh, Andy, don’t be dramatic.”  
Andy frowned at him and Travie reached over the table and gripped Andy’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.  
“Don’t freak the kid out before you even get started, Hurley, damn. He’s like ten.”  
“So?” Andy crossed his arms, but admitted defeat when Gabe just grinned at him.  
“Let’s just bask in the moment, guys. Pete Wentz just called something _dramatic,_ without a single ounce of irony or self-awareness.”  
“Shut the fuck up,” Pete shoved at him and Joe laughed. He fit right in with them, despite the age gap, like there had been a little hole just for him, waiting in hiding until it was time to be filled.  
-  
And with the introduction of Joe to their circle, with the hole he hadn’t known was there filled, Pete had created the perfect council. And years did pass before the end of his easy life, in which new people came and joined them and grew into his circle of care - became important to himself and these four boys who had helped shape who he would be.  
First, there was Ryland and Suarez: best friends with identical scars and a burning lust for revenge against Better Living and Cobra bots. Gabe had rescued them from death himself, the first time Pete had been allowed to see the style of fighting he’d been practicing for a whole year along with Nate and Victoria. Then, there was Disashi and Eric and Matt, a hardworking and levelheaded trio Travie gathered to his side quietly and without fanfare so as to not bring Shakira’s gaze upon them. There were Victoria’s girls, Greta the A-plus medic and Hayley, the fighting firecracker, and their own unique group of friends and partners. There was Maja and her small crew of has-been-bullies, not quite friends but no longer enemies after a particularly endless game of ‘hide with your hated partner while Beyoncé hunts your fucking ass.’  
Pete was lucky that Yeezus trusted him implicitly, because - had it been anyone else - it would have seemed like Pete was building a small army. An army loyal to himself, before anything else.  
And, truthfully, it could have been something Yeezus could have needed to worry about, years down the line and after Pete had truly gained the hearts of his followers. It could have been a civil war, fought between a generation doing what it takes to survive and a generation wanting to do _more_ than just survive - a war that tore friendships and community, the underworld of the Battery City factions, apart. Once Pete had grown into himself, cemented his identity and his place in the world, found his center and listened to Sandman’s opinion on his father a tiny bit more often, it could have been a war fought with words and subtle actions and false smiles.  
It could have been anything, so much bigger than it was in the end, had the raid never happened. Had Yeezus, Pete’s father, and Jay-Z, Pete’s dad, not died before Pete had grown into himself enough to ever truly challenge Yeezus or truly understand Jay-Z.  
But it hadn’t happened like that, and Pete - and Beyoncé - _had_ lost Yeezus and Jay-Z. The Young Bloods _had_ lost their leader, leaving themselves in the hands of an eighteen year old with the makings of a strong, steady support system and an obsession with a spy’s kid.  
-  
“Attention!” Shakira snapped and the whole room went quiet. Pete frowned, looking around with barely there head movements, so as to not draw Shakira’s attention. She obviously wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s foolery and Pete didn’t want to be the one to tip her over with Beyoncé just in the doorway, watching them.  
“You’re all probably wondering why, exactly, we’ve gathered the lot of you here.”  
“Training,” Someone, possibly Morris because he can be a bit fucking thick so early in the morning, answered.  
“Right!” Shakira smiled, sharp and dangerous, lethal like her heels, “Training! Beyoncé has, quite kindly I’d say, offered to take the whole lot of you off my hands for the day while I run a special mission with the girls. She’s taking you into the tunnels we’ll call home in a few weeks so you can learn the layout and a few basic navigational signs.”  
“All of us?” Greta spoke up, sounding a little spooked. Pete knew that Greta, out of everyone in the room, liked leaving their base the least.  
“All of you,” Shakira nodded, “Best to get this out of the way and with most of your commanders in a meeting, you’re all free today. If you’d all rather stay here and _train_ , I’m sure I could arrange something.  
A steady chorus of negatives rippled along the crowd, Pete included and Travie with him, and Shakira laughed.  
“Point proven,” She planted her hands on her hips and looked them over, “Beyoncé’s going to give me a full report and if one of you rookies fucks up, the whole lot of you are on double rotation, you here?”  
No one dared grumble.  
“Now that that is settled,” She side stepped, nodding at Beyoncé, “They’re all yours, Beyoncé. I’m off.”  
Beyoncé took over after a fast, quiet goodbye with her friend and cast a judgmental eye over the crowd. Pete could have sworn he actually felt the spines of the people around him stiffen - Travie included.  
“Follow me.” She finally said. “Silent, groups of six or less, ten to twenty feet behind but don’t lose sight of the group ahead of you. We’ll be entering the tunnels through a manhole so figure out your order because I don’t want you hovering around the entrance waiting.”  
She turned, motioned for the first wave to follow her, and the crowd began to move. Andy and Gabe found he and Travie within moments and Joe joined them as they were hitting the mild, smoggy air of the outside - dragging Big Sean with him.  
“Hey, man,” Pete high-fived him, welcoming him into their group. “What’s up?”  
Big Sean pulled his thin jacket around himself even more, glancing around, “Nothin’. I’ve just got a bad feeling about today.”  
 _Kid knows what he’s talking about_ , Sandman muttered, making Pete frown.  
“Somethin’ wrong?” Gabe asked, “Like what?”  
“I dunno,” Sean shrugged, “Don’t worry about it, I guess. What do you think they’re talking about in the meeting?”  
Pete hesitated before he answered, glancing around to make sure that the groups surrounding them were far enough away that they couldn’t hear him.  
“Yeezus told me it wasn’t any of my business, yet, but Jay-Z mentioned something about there being a leak.”  
“A _leak_?” Gabe dropped his voice, “Are you serious? Who?”  
“They aren’t sure,” Pete shrugged, “But Jay-Z said it’s pretty serious.”  
“We lost a whole patrol two days ago,” Andy muttered, “That’s pretty serious, I’d say.”  
“Shit,” Sean frowned, “So I guess they’ll try to flush the mole out while we’re gone.”  
“And how do you know that it isn’t one of us?” Travie slung an arm around Joe, “I mean, there are nearly fifty of us, here.”  
“Yeah, fifty specifically chosen to be trained directly under Shakira and other high rankers,” Joe pointed out, “We’re all vetted and shit. It’s the other trainees and people that are going to be looked over. They probably just stuck us in the tunnels to get us out of the way.”  
“That would explain why they send the medics with us,” Gabe nodded, “I mean, they even made me bring Vicky-T and Nate.”  
“Where are they, then? Shouldn’t they be with us?” Pete looked around until Gabe pointed him forward and he caught sight of Greta, Nate, Vicky-T, Ryland, Suarez and Haley in their own group.  
“I’m letting them have some space,” Gabe explained, “They’re about the age where, if they’d grown up like me, they’d be sent off on a mission.”  
“A _mission_?” Andy glanced at Gabe for a few seconds before he returned his eyes to the group ahead of them. Beyoncé had disappeared from sight nearly ten minutes prior but their procession had slowed, so Pete could only assume they’d found the tunnel and were steady trickling inside.  
“Not a _mission_ mission,” Gabe grinned, “I mean, I was sent out to consult with a client when I was Nate’s age.”  
Andy gave him a suspicious ‘I’m watching you’ look, but it had long become more playful and fond than seriously mistrustful. Two years of life and death situations and dealing with Pete’s shit could do that to a friendship.  
“Let’s just focus on this,” Joe rolled his eyes, “We’ll get through it and when the others are distracted, we can fall in with Beyoncé and see if she’ll give us anything.”  
“And if she doesn’t, we’ll just leave it up to Yeezus.” Big Sean sighed, “Why do you guys always have to get _involved._ ”  
“ _Involved_ is all I know!” Pete laughed, brushing past Sean and dropping down the manhole without a backwards glance.  
Andy, and then Joe, followed after and Pete could barely wait for the rest of his group to fall in before he was pushing past the small crowd to the front.  
Beyoncé caught his eye for a few seconds, trying to make it clear that he wasn’t to bring up the meeting at all while they were down, but Pete just smiled - big and bright - at her.  
“This area is about four miles away from where our base is located. Salt and Pepa are going to join us soon, and then everyone is going to be checked for tracers before we continue. We’ll be waiting here so everyone get comfortable.”  
She picked a spot and dropped down, stretching out her legs and taking the chance to stretch. Andy gave Pete a trying look before he followed suit, taking a place a few feet away and starting his own stretches. Joe looked between the two of them before finally giving in and following Andy’s example.  
Gabe slithered against his side, resting his chin on Pete’s head. Gabe was quite a few things that Pete was proud of, but ‘taller than him and still growing’ wasn’t one of them.  
“Look at your dedicated bodyguards,” Gabe teased, looking Andy and Joe over. Pete knew Gabe was cataloging, taking their movements in and playing with them in his head to either adapt them to his fighting or figure out a way to account for and take advantage of the movements.  
“Shut up,” Travie scoffed, “They’re just taking advantage of their time. Come on, Sean, lets’ us go find my three and we’ll put in a little of our own training.”  
Big Sean nodded, clasped hands with Pete and Gabe quickly, and followed Travie off to find Eric, Disashi, and Matt.  
“I think that was my cue to leave,” Gabe grinned, pulling away from Pete’s arm to brush himself off, “I’ll go find my rugrats and make sure the lot of them are still alive and kickin’.”  
“You do that,” Pete agreed, taking a step away from Gabe but turning back to face him again in almost the same step, “And keep an eye on them, Gabe. I don’t know what this mole is willing to do, and I don’t want to test it with a lost group of kids in a place like this.”  
“Like anything could get past me,” Gabe smirked, but he left quickly to find his small class and loom over them like a protective big brother.  
“What do you want, Pete.” Beyoncé sighed when she caught sight of him. “Why aren’t you using your time a little more wisely?”  
“I want to know about the meeting,” Pete plopped next to her and started reaching for his toes.  
“To get a comprehensive read on the full situation, like you always tell me.”  
She blew out a puff of hair, lifting her bangs from her forehead with the force of her breath, but set up straight from her stretches.  
“What, exactly, do you want to know?”  
“I want to know why you aren’t in the meeting. And what they plan to do to flush the mole out, why it took so long for us to find out about it, and why you took fifty nearly trained soldiers out of the building instead of placing us with people we should be protecting.”  
“In case you forgot,” Beyoncé raised her eyebrow at him, the eyebrow raise that meant ‘I’m amused’ and not ‘I’m going to fuck you up’, “Even if we did leave everyone at base, you still would have been sent away with a team of bodyguards because you aren’t just a soldier, Pete.”  
Pete waved his hand, “Irrelevant. You’ve pulled me and my _team_ away from watching over my priority mission - Pattycakes, - and I want to know why.”  
“Why?” Beyoncé sighed, glancing around a few times to make sure the rest of Pete’s peers were distracted before she leaned forward, “Because Yeezus has a bad feeling. He thinks something has gone wrong in a real bad way, and he wanted you guys out of the way while they hash it out. I’m not in the meeting, because my girls and I were put on protection detail.”  
“He thinks they’re going after us.” Pete figured, “So you balled up your important future generation kids and tossed ‘em in the easy-to-defend tunnels.”  
“Exactly.” Beyoncé nodded, looking proud, “You figured it out pretty fast, I knew you could work that brain.”  
“But why wouldn’t he send the currently important people down? Snoop, for instance, or any of the fully trained medics. Cee-Lo, Jay-Z, Yeezus himself.”  
“If you could pry those idiots’ out of their perspective council seats,” She shook her head, “Be my guest. They’re staying and they’re going to hunt the mole down while our important assets, and our secret weapon, are safe down here. Not to mention, teachin’ you dumbasses the lay of the land in these tunnels _is_ important. These are going to be our homes now. We’re we settle our roots and dig in.”  
“You mean while you have Sandman locked up,” Pete frowned, “And we’re the contingency plan. If something goes wrong, you might not have the real things but you’ve got us, and we’re just trained enough to hold our shit together until a better plan is thought up.”  
“This is Plan A,” Beyoncé knocked their heads together, something she hadn’t done since he was knee high and standing at the edge of her bed, shaking in terror at the thought of going back to Linda Vista. “Truthfully, if it were up to me, I’d have sent you and maybe half of the kids I’ve got down here off and kept the rest. But Yeezus had a feeling, and so the lot of you were sent away. There’s barely even any evidence that there _is_ a mole right now, and that’s what the meeting is really about. Jay-Z shouldn’t have gotten you twisted up like that without proper proof.”  
Pete opened his mouth, not sure what to say, but Salt and Pepa showed up with enough fanfare to distract Beyoncé’s attention.  
She stood and he followed, waiting for Andy to join him before he went off in search of their group. There was time, he supposed, to corner her again, when he wasn’t surrounded by other people in an enclosed, confusing and dark place.  
They started running the usual alarm systems over people, passing them off to Beyoncé once they were cleared, until all of them had been cleaned and Beyoncé knew they were safe from BL.  
“Alright, I’ll be splitting you up into thirds and you’ll be assigned to myself, Salt, or Pepa. Salt’s group goes one way, Pepa’s goes another, and mine goes another. We’ll converge in what will be the mess hall and you will be given a very, very basic map to be uploaded onto your personal communicators. Do not trust any place on this map that you have not been through yourself, because they are deliberately misleading. Am I understood? Good. Line up in your groups, I’ll be separating you now.”  
Of course, because Pete wouldn’t accept it any other way, and - really - neither would she, Pete’s group and the group consisting of Gabe’s underlings, were sent with Beyoncé, along with Maja’s crew.  
“So, if we’re all down here, where are your girls?” Pete asked the moment they were separate from the others.  
“Above ground, guarding the entrances we’ll be going past.” Beyoncé sighed, the gentle bright from the small fairy lights illuminating her copper skin in some places and casting deep shadows in others. She looked older in this light, more dragged down than usual. Pete wasn’t the only one worried and he could read it in every line of her face.  
“Is that why you’re carrying long distance radio?” He voiced, glancing down at the apparent bulge in her pocket.  
“That’s for Yeezus or Jay-Z,” She nodded, “But yes, the girls have access to the frequency, too. Now, pay attention! You could get lost for a century down here if you’re not careful!”  
Pete fell back next to Andy and Travie again, frowning.  
It was a bad day for Sandman and he was in no mood for questions or comfort. His eyes were dangerous, animalistic and patient. Something was _wrong_.  
Of course, Pete had no idea of just _how_ wrong it was until they’d been buried deep underground in an abandoned, forgotten tunnel system for nearing on three hours. They were meant to be meeting up in the mess hall within the hour, and Pete hadn’t ever considered himself claustrophobic - he’d spent a number of years using the outer tunnels to get around the city, fast - but the low ceiling had begun to weigh on even his mind.  
“There’s a crack in the wall, between the four offshoots,” Beyoncé was explaining, touching a jagged scar in the dirty concrete of the wall, “The tunnel on the far right of it will lead you to the mess hall. To the left of the far right will lead to what will be soldier’s barracks, and the two on the left of the crack lead to a dead end and an open pit in the tunnels that’s too deep to hear the bottom of so choose wisely if you ever - ”  
Her radio crackled, a short burst of static, before it went dead again.  
She stopped talking.  
Carefully, she removed the radio from her waist and lifted it to her lips.  
“Report,” She barked into the receiver, hands tight on the plastic. Pete took a step forward, felt Andy’s hand on his wrist, and barely stopped himself from pushing forward again, anyway.  
There was another burst of static, silence again, and Beyoncé pressed the button again to snap an even harsher, “ _Report_ , HQ.”  
“ _Bee_ ,” Jay-Z’s voice finally came over the radio, “ _Bee, it was an ambush,_ ”  
There was the sudden sound of rayfire, shots being released, and yells. Pete could almost pretend that he could make out Yeezus’ commands.  
He did step forward then, grabbing Beyoncé’s shirt bottom with nearly numb fingers.  
“Status, Jay,” Beyoncé demanded, “What’s happening?”  
“ _\- hour after you left...ambush...broke through door...under heavy fire, losing numbers...few managed to get clea -...stay with the…._ ”  
“Jay!” Beyoncé tried, “Jay, answer me!”  
She pointed at Pete, said, “You’re in charge,” and disappeared down one of the left tunnels, still shouting into the radio.  
The tunnels, surprisingly, didn’t echo quite well enough for them to understand what she was saying and it left Pete already on the edge of his nerves. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and counted to ten.  
 _I guess your friend was right_ , Sandman clicked his lips, _Something’s going very wrong._  
 _Shut up,_ Pete frowned, _I can’t handle this from you right now._  
 _That’s what you always say,_ Sandman shook his head, feigning sadness, _And then you ask me for my help and I have to come and save the day, again and again._  
Pete gave him the bird and thought ‘ten’ before he opened his eyes.  
“Pete, what do we do?” Joe caught his attention, “What’s going on?”  
“The mole was a bigger threat than at first assumed.” Pete said, thickly. “There’s a fight going on.”  
“Don’t panic,” Gabe pat Pete’s shoulder carefully, “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see. Beyoncé will walk out of the tunnel looking totally in control and tell us that we’re all turning around to meet up with the others and then join the battle and kick some BL ass.”  
“I wish we could just go now,” Big Sean grumbled, looking near murderous, “But I’ve got no clue where we are in this fucking place.”  
“Yeezus is in danger,” Andy frowned, “That means Beyoncé will be leaving any second now. She can’t leave he and Jay-Z like that.”  
“They’re her people,” Gabe nodded, “Don’t worry.”  
Still, Beyoncé didn’t come back for almost too long. Gabe had long since rounded up Nate’s group and settled them so they wouldn’t worry too badly and even Maja had set aside her usual distaste for the lot of them and stood next to Pete when Beyoncé finally returned.  
“Follow me.” She ordered. Instead of turning them around, though, she started leading them towards the mess hall.  
“Um,” Pete frowned, “Doesn’t this lead deeper into the tunnels?”  
“Yes.” She nodded.  
“Then we should go the other way to get out.” He pointed out.  
“You’re right,” She nodded again.  
“Then why aren’t we heading back if they’re under attack!?” Andy grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back so he didn’t shout the last of the words. She was acting so cold, indifferent to what they’d heard over the radio, and Pete didn’t _understand_. Beyoncé was Yeezus’ bodyguard, she would cut off her own fingers before she left him to fight alone, and Pete couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t running back to the HQ and leaving them in her dust.  
“We’re not going back.” Beyoncé paused, just a few seconds, before continuing decisively, “Orders are orders.”  
“Stop,” Pete demanded, grabbing her hand. Usually, she’d have slapped him so hard for that kind of shit that he’d o hit the wall. This time, she just paused, her wrist and hand limp in his.  “Beyoncé, what the fuck is going on?”  
“They’re under attack.” Beyoncé repeated his own words, “But my orders are to protect you and the others, so that’s what I’m going to do.”  
“But,” Andy stopped at Pete’s side, “But Yeezus is your charge. You have to protect him.”  
“More than he’s my charge, he’s my leader, and I have to listen to him.” Beyoncé said pointedly, “This is a lesson for you, Andy. No matter how much you want to keep someone, keep Pete safe, he is your leader and his orders are to be followed. Yeezus knows what he’s doing.”  
“He’s in trouble!” Pete couldn’t help but yell, “You heard Jay-Z, they’re under attack!”  
“Yes,” Beyoncé nodded again, “Probably, they’re going to die.”  
“We have to go and help them!” Maja stepped up, “If we make it, we could turn the tide in their favor!”  
Beyoncé’s radio went live again before Beyoncé could respond and she picked it up, turning her back to them.  
“Beyoncé,”  
“Bee,” Yeezus’ voice broke through, “Bee, is the package secure?”  
She raked her eyes over Pete. “Secure, sir.”  
“Roger,” He confirmed, “We’re not gonna make it, Bee. Keep the package secure for forty eight hours, send a recon crew for what you can salvage.”  
“Goods and services have been transferred,” Beyoncé nodded, her voice perfectly controlled and perfectly lifeless, “Basics are still present on your end.”  
“Fuck ‘em,” He laughed. Pete could make out screaming in the distance behind him, “Everything important is transferred?”  
“Roger,” Beyoncé closed her eyes. “Survivors?”  
“I sent who I could away. Expect Snoop, a few others. The other squads have been directed.”  
“How many should we expect?”  
“One-K.” Yeezus guessed, “But I want the package to triple that within two years.”  
“That’s a hefty job,” She nearly wilted, “Without some backup.”  
“You’re all the backup it needs,” Yeezus laughed again and Pete couldn’t stand it anymore.  
“Yeezus!” He yelled, grabbing the radio and nearly shaking it, “Tell her to bring us back! We can help you!”  
“Pete,” Yeezus said his name and it made Pete’s arms freeze. His veins went cold. Yeezus’ voice broke.  
“Pete, I can’t do that.”  
“You’ll die,” Pete snapped, “You’ll die and we can _help you_ so send us _back_ ,”  
“It’s too late,” Yeezus grunted and the radio went dead silent for nearly a whole minute. Pete had just started shaking when Yeezus came back. “Besides, if you die, no one will be there to lead the faction.”  
“Fuck that,” Pete got out, “ _You_ lead the faction.”  
‘Not for much longer,” Yeezus laughed, and he didn’t sound close to death at all, “Don’t think I didn’t notice your mini-army.”  
“They weren’t,” Pete protested, “It wasn’t like that, Yeezus, I -”  
“It’s time,” Yeezus hissed and there was a blast that sounded way, way too close, like it was in the tunnel with them and not miles away and above ground, “It’s time for a new leader to take my place, kid. You and I both know this was going to happen someday.”  
“It’s too soon,” Pete shook his head, “I can’t do it, it’s too soon, Yeezus, I’m barely eighteen,”  
“You’ll do fine,” Yeezus panted, sounding pained, “Bee’ll help you, so listen to her. Cee-Lo made it, so did Snoop. They’ll do what they can, and Shakira and her girls,”  
“I don’t want it,” Pete choked, “Yeezus, I don’t want it like this,”  
“Life isn’t about what you want,” Yeezus said gently, and it was probably the most vulnerable he’d ever been with Pete, “It’s about doing what needs to be done. I’m trusting our people to you, kid.”  
“ _Please_ , tell her to take us back,” Pete begged.  
Yeezus laughed, chokingly, “I can’t.”  
“Where’s Jay-Z?” Travie suddenly asked, “That was his radio, right? Where is he?”  
Yeezus breathed, hard and loud, into the radio, “I’m sorry.”  
Beyoncé made a noise. A single, soft, noise that articulated the total and complete heartbreak the words caused her.  
“Yeezus,” Pete reeled. Andy stepped in behind him, supported him, and Pete fell into his arms, “Yeezus, I - I love you, okay? I haven’t said it before but I have to say it, okay, I have to tell you that you saved me and I love you and Jay-Z so fucking much, please don’t leave me again, I -”  
“Pete,” Yeezus laughed again, and it was fond and loving and not at all like Yeezus usually sounded, “Pete, you’re my son. I don’t know how we managed it, but the three of us raised a pretty great kid. I lov-”  
There was a blast, loud, and the radio fizzled out.  
Pete wasn’t under any illusions as to what had just happened.  
He dropped the radio.  
Sandman set up from his bed, loose and mellow like a sunning snake. He walked over to Pete and set on the bed next to him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed Pete’s face into his shoulder.  
Pete breathed hard a few times, his lungs nearly seizing in his chest, before he broke and started to cry. Long, hard, loud sobs that echoed around the white room and tears, fat and hot with pain, leaked down his cheeks and stained Sandman’s shoulder. He cried so hard his vision nearly blackened and his sobs became hiccups he could barely breathe through and he couldn’t stop. There was no stopping at all, not even to catch his breath, so he just let Sandman rub his back and shoulders and cried.  
 _It’s okay,_ Sandman hummed into his hair, _You’ll be fine._  
 _I’m dying,_ Pete shook his head, _I’m dying, nothing could live through pain like this,_  
 _You’re **fine** ,_ Sandman promised, rubbing his claws against Pete’s back through the gown. _You’ll live._  
 _I don’t want to live,_ Pete choked, _Sandman, I don’t want to go without them,_  
 _Grow up,_ Sandman scoffed, _You’ve got people to take care of, Pete. Andy and Travis, Gabe and the others. Beyoncé is still here. You have to protect Patrick._  
 _But -_  
 _You have people to take care of, Pete._ Sandman stood up, _You don’t have time for grief. Pull yourself together. Imagine what the others are going through, just losing their leader and now having to deal with your catatonic ass._  
Pete covered his face with his hands and rocked until he bent over his lap, backs of his arms against his knees. He sobbed hard once, twice, three times, and then went quiet.  
He shook when he said, _Tell me again._  
 _You have people to take care of._ Sandman turned back to him and crossed his arms.  
 _Who_?  
 _Andy, Travis, Gabe, Joe, your other little friends. Beyoncé._  
Sandman nodded. _Yeezus might be gone, but he’s still all alone and unprotected. He probably doesn’t even have a detail on him right now._  
 _They’d of called everyone else to fight._ Pete wiped at his eyes and set up again.  
Sandman agreed, _So the faster you take control of the situation, the faster you get someone on him. He’s **important** , Pete._  
 _He is. I have to make sure everyone else is safe._  
 _They might follow the escapees down the tunnels,_ Sandman pointed out, _And then you’re fucked._  
 _I have to keep my shit together._  
 _So get it together._  
Pete nodded, ran a hand through his hair and ignored the hot, tight feeling on his face.  
He blinked and his eyes were dry, his face cool.  
“-ete!” Andy was calling, hands gripping his face hard, “Pete, wake up! Snap out of it!”  
Pete shook his head slowly, dislodging Andy’s hands. “What…”  
“You spaced.” Andy said gently, “Your eyes started flashing back and forth.”  
“I was...talking to Sandman.” Pete leaned forward until his head was on Andy’s shoulders, “I needed a minute.”  
“It’s okay,” Andy hugged him. He didn’t seem to know what else to say.  
Pete thought about it for a few seconds, about the fact that Andy had lost his whole family and Pete had only lost two thirds of his. How had Andy handled it?”  
“How did you handle it?” He asked quietly, his hands convulsing against Andy’s sides, where he found that he was gripping Andy’s shirt.  
“Like I told Gabe. I found someone else to live for. I found you.”  
“Find someone else to live for, huh?” Pete nodded, just a little.  
“Pete.” Gabe rested a hand on Pete’s shoulder, tentative. Pete breathed out and pressed into the touch. He pulled away from Andy and smiled. He wondered if it was as empty as he felt.  
“We need to go.” He said to Beyoncé. “Tell the others what happened. Wait for the other squads and the group Yeezus sent.”  
Beyoncé started walking without a word. Pete knew she hurt too, if not worse than he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it.  
“What are we going to do?” He heard Joe whispered.  
“Whatever we have to.” Travie answered, so he didn’t have to.  
-  
“Yeezus is dead.” Beyoncé announced to the mess hall nearly two hours later. Pete’s group and the other two groups had met up soon after his conversation with Yeezus, but they’d waited until the squads from the other Young Blood safe houses and the HQ escapees (a depressingly small group of twenty) before she’d actually climbed onto a rusted table and called the attention to herself.  
A hush settled over the gathered crowd. The room had been huge when they’d initially joined it but it was filled to the brim now, people so close together that they couldn't breathe without moving those around them. Pete stood at the table, only reaching Beyoncé’s knees while she was atop the table. Gabe, Travie, Andy and Joe stood around him, a protective barrier against the rest of the world. Travie was closest, his back to Pete’s, and Pete couldn’t help but lean back and use him for support.  
Travie was strong behind him, holding him up like he always had.  
“Yeezus is dead,” She repeated, “But we are not. We’ve lost...a lot of great people today. People we loved. But we’re alive, and the Young Bloods have survived, like we always have. We’ve lost our leader, but that just means it’s time for his heir to step up.”  
She offered her hand and, feeling slightly numbed, Pete grabbed it and let her pull him onto the table next to her.  
“You want us to be led by a _boy_!?” Someone shouted from the crowd almost immediately, and a steady roar began, people fighting for and against the idea of Pete taking over from where Yeezus left off. If Pete had looked down, he knew that his friends, those he’d been pulling close to himself in the last few years, would have been silent. Angry, but silent.  
“I want you to be led by Yeezus’ _heir_ , by Jay-Z’s son, and my apprentice. If you have a problem with that, than come fight him yourself.”  
Her words echoed, but it only made the crowd louder, angry and upset and fearful.  
Pete shook his head, looked the crowd over, and made his spine straighten.  
“Listen to me!” He boomed, his voice loud and echoing around the room with little chance of being ignored.  
Like he’d hoped, the yelling died down.  
“I’m young.” Pete agreed, looking in the first nay-sayer’s direction, “I’ll give you that. I don’t know what I’m doing all of the time, but that’s why I have my people. If any of you really think that Beyoncé won’t be taking the reins for the next few weeks, you’re wrong. Cee Lo and Snoop made it home, thank the Shadows, and I have trustworthy and intelligent friends who are willing to help me before I fuck up. Losing Yeezus was a blow. We lost more than a leader, but we also lost a figure-head. Someone we all put our faith and trust in. It’s going to be...difficult, going on without him. But we have to. We have to go on. That’s just how it is. We don’t have time to mourn him or the others, not yet. We have to make sure that we’re safe, that BL only got the ones we know they did, and nothing else. People on missions need to be informed, our supplies need to be restocked and these tunnels need to be patrolled, secured, and set up for living. For too long, the faction has been split up into different houses, trying to keep the whole safe by separating it into parts. We’re whole _now_ , and I plan to keep it that way. If you want to contest my leadership, Yeezus gave us a forty eight hour wait before we pick through the remains of HQ. You have until his last order is carried out to kill me. If no one does, the Young Bloods are _mine_. If you do, what this faction comes to is up to you. If you want to fight me, I’ll be in the training room - it’s labeled on the map Beyoncé’s going to upload to everyone’s communicators.”  
He dropped the hand he’d held up to keep their attention and let Travie help him off the table.  
Andy shoved his way through the crowd and Gabe and Travie flanked Pete as he walked through the spaces Andy made. Joe brought up the rear, protecting Pete’s back through the crowd of people.  
They made it to the training room in record time, Andy already having memorized the map, and Joe barred the door while Pete dropped into one of the makeshift rings that had been moved from HQ to the tunnels last week.  
“What was that shit?” Andy narrowed his eyes, “You just invited people to try to kill you for two days, Pete.”  
“I have to prove I’m not afraid,” Pete shrugged, “Besides, this gives me two days to get my shit together before I take over for Beyoncé. Speaking of.”  
He pointed at Gabe and Travie with his middle and index fingers, “You two are being promoted.”  
“Promoted?” Gabe blinked, “What do you mean?”  
“Cee Lo and Big Sean are going to take care of the guard now. With more space, we’re going to expand our ranks. Yeezus wanted three thousand? I’ll give him four. But they’ll need to be trained, and Shakira is for Special Forces, not run of the mill. You, Travie, will be taking over for Jay-Z. You’re my overt ops guy now. Pick a team, consult Beyoncé, and try to remember the things Jay-Z taught you. Gabe, you’re Beyoncé now. Your team is way, way too young to be going into the field, so she’s going to update you on her current and future plans and advise you.”  
“And me?” Andy frowned, “Shouldn’t Beyoncé’s job be mine, if you’re taking her off of it to keep her on you? I already know everything Gabe would need to learn.”  
“You’re on me.” Pete shook his head, “You’re my right hand from now on, Andy. You shadow Salt and Pepa for the next week, because I’m reassigning them to a different plan. Until then, learn every facet of their jobs because you’re taking over for them.”  
“Aren’t we a little young?” Travie raised an eyebrow, “I mean, there are others you could use.”  
“No, there aren’t.” Pete shrugged. “The others are set in their ways. Yeezus had his way of running things, and I have mine. I’ll assign you mentors, people to use for advice, but you all know what I want - how I think and what my plans are. You know what decisions to make. I trust you.”  
“What about me?” Joe pushed in, finally speaking up. He hadn’t spoken much since the radio call, too shaken up.  
“You, Joe, have the most important job of all.”  
And it pained Pete to say it, pained him more than he’d thought it would when he’d made the decision somewhere between the mess hall and the training room, when he’d been running through his options and assigning places to people. But he said it anyway.  
“You are going to be watching out for Patrick.”  
No one said a thing.  
Three hours later, his first contender walked into the ring and Pete beat him down with almost too much force. After his first victory, it was a slow but steady stream of people wanting a crack at him - for the chance to take control of a powerful faction, just to see if they could beat him, or to try to take revenge for some slight he’d made against them. Some of them had been waiting for the chance to stab him in the back since he’d been brought into the Young Bloods eleven years ago.  
Still, Pete didn’t get tired of it. It was like fighting was helping him work through his own problems. Each punch, each dodge, and each wound he gave and received was helping him - bleeding him of the pain until all he had left was nothing.  
By the time Andy put a stop to it for the day, Pete was bloody and dirty with dust and bad feelings. He waved his friends off and found Beyoncé’s room instead, an ‘x’ on his map only.  
She helped him get clean, like she hadn’t since he’d been a small kid, and then they cried together and cried together and talked about what she planned and what he planned.  
Then they slept.  
And, when he woke up, the new leader of the Young Bloods stepped out of the room where a stupid kid had walked in the night before, ready to take on the responsibilities that he’d been training for since he was seven years old.  
He spent the next day in the training room, fighting the last of the people who hadn’t heeded his last few victims’ advice to stay away, like he’d promised to.  
Unshockingly, when the forty eight hour mark had passed and he’d sent out a team consisting of Cee Lo, Big Sean, and eight people of their choosing to root through the remains of the HQ, he was still Yeezus’ heir.  
Still the leader of the Young Bloods.  
He set at the head of the table now, a long, vaguely ovaled top in the middle of the room connecting to what was going to be his quarters - a bathroom, office, and bedroom. The War room.  
“My first order of business,” He leaned forward, smiling at the people that made up his council. He’d never been allowed in the council meetings, not until a few weeks ago and he’d only seen three since then. The council was going to be all his own, no inspiration given to him by his late fathers. Beyoncé had decided to take a hands off approach and set, quietly, a seat down from Pete’s right, Andy between them. On the other side of him set Travie, and then Gabe and Big Sean. Cee Lo had found a place next to Beyoncé, Shakira next to him and then Snoop opposite Pete, a bland but friendly smile on his long face and sunglasses covering his eyes.  
“Motorbabies. Pick an exit, kids, we’re opening a port for the convoy.”  
-  
Pete wasn't perfect, and neither was Sandman. Surrounded by the frenzy of a faction in the midst of loss, reeling from new reforms more concerned with welfare than secrecy, it was bound to happen that an assassin would come across Pete's body sans Pete.  
It didn't go over well, that Sandman had massacred a woman, but it went over less well with Andy and Joe that someone had tried to assassinate their charge.  
Still, it had its positives. No more assassins were sent after him.  
Pete started slowly. He picked one of their ways through the wall, a small crevice blown open when a BL bomb went off a few blocks over. Debris had destroyed a section and a part of the wall that had been broken up was overlooked due to the mass of dangerous wires and stone that had blocked it off. Beyoncé had sent a team to cut and pick at the wire and stone until a safe path had formed, hidden by hanging wires and perceptively placed rock. This was the place Pete chose to open his port, and he contacted the caravan the same way Yeezus had - through one Doctor Death Defying.  
"Pete Wentz," Dr. D smiled down the radio. Pete settled into his chair and pressed the radio microphone to his lips, smiling himself.  
“Dr. D,” Pete greeted, “I’ve got some news for ya’, if you’re interested.”  
“News from the city? Always interested. Spring it on me, shadow chaser.”  
“Shadow chaser,” Pete repeated, laughing, “I like it. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve just come into power in the Young Bloods.”  
“I have,” Dr. Death Defying sighed, “Sorry for your loss, kid.”  
“Thanks,” Pete lightly ran his fingers over Joe’s latest report and didn’t think about the sorrow that he’d locked away in a box next to the one with the picture of Mikeyway in it. The report was of Patrick, so Pete had been saving it for when he had some down time. Hopefully, once this conversation was over, he would be allowed to read it over as a reward. “But, about that interesting news. I’ve decided to take a turn for the philanthropy efforts. I’m opening up a port for your Carburetor Ports, if you’re willing to stop by our neck of the woods.”  
“You’re gonna start sending your kids to the land down under?”  
“I’m going to start sending any kids who want out to the land down under.” Pete corrected, “I’m spreading the word from now on, if the convoy is willing. If you’ve got a kid and you want ‘em out, bring ‘em to me and we’ll send them your way.”  
“Wow,” Dr. D trailed off, “Wow, kid, that’s not happened before. You’d be giving up a way out.”  
“I’d be giving _them_ a way out,” Pete shrugged, “I’m not in this for the rewards, Dr. D. I think it’s about time we stopped living for _our_ people, and started living for _people_ , instead.”  
“Spoken like a true politician,” Dr. D laughed, sounding just a little scandalized.  
“I was raised by the best,”  
Pete gave Dr. D a few seconds to think on it before he continued. “I imagine the first few loads will be small, and then they’ll get big, before they go back down to somewhere in the middle. I’m thinking I can split the groups up after they start getting big, send the ones most likely to be picked up by Vixens out of the city fast and have them meet up with the caravan and then keep the others a little longer until the next caravan comes ‘round.”  
“I like it,” Dr. D hummed, “But that means they could be with you for quite some time. Two months or so.”  
“I was thinking we could start schooling them,” Pete admitted, “Basic alphabet, some maths. I know Australia has enough trouble with being a giant nation of children and young adults biting at the chomps to rush back into battle, so…”  
“You know,” Dr. D said thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, “I think I’m going to like you, shadow chaser.”  
Pete grinned.  
“I think I’m gonna like me, too, Dr. D.”  
And that was how, two weeks after he’d finalized the decision with Dr. Death Defying, Pete sent Chilli, T-Boz, and Left Eye with a small group of city rat kids to join the caravan.  
“You actually did it,” Andy commented once T-Boz had left his office, “You’re seriously going to do this whole motorbaby thing.”  
“I seriously am.” Pete nodded, “And you’re seriously going to help me. I want you to find a teacher. Writing and maths. I figure, they’re going to be with us for a while, we might as well educate them.”  
“This is going to gut our supplies,” Andy sighed, not bothering to argue.  
“We’ll figure it out.” Pete shrugged, “Take donations, I dunno. With a place like this, we could probably find a tunnel to seal off and do some science with food growth. Pick up that research Jay-Z stashed away on that farming without sunlight experiment.”  
“I suppose we could talk trade with the Disney faction, see if we can trade some information or different light systems. Solar lights, red and blue lights. They always have an abundance of lights, for some reason.”  
“They use them for their stupid concerts.” Pete laughed. “Get someone on that. Any ideas?”  
“Bob Morris,” Andy listed, “He’s Greta’s underling but he could do being away from medical. And Eminem. He’s been pretty lost without Dre since he passed at HQ, so giving him a new job might bring him out of his funk. They’ve both got green thumbs, so maybe they could coax a few food experiments into our stomachs.”  
“And then throw ‘em in the pot with Nate and the cooks, and you’ve got some self-sufficiency!” Pete clapped, “Perfect! Get them on that, Andy.”  
“And the teacher?” Andy sighed, sounding way too put upon. “We hardly have people to spare for teaching positions, Pete.”  
“If you can’t find someone, you’ll have to do it.”  
“I feel like quite a bit of the responsibility has been put on my shoulders here, man.” Andy crossed his arms, giving Pete the stink eye, “Are you abusing your status?”  
“Please,” Pete waved his hand, “If I didn’t give the jobs to you, you’d just take them, anyway.”  
Andy shrugged, not denying it.  
“Now, get out of here.” Pete smirked, “You’ve got jobs to do, Hurley.”  
“Fuck you,” Andy gave him the bird, but he left without another complaint to go assign titles and order people around. Sometimes, Pete thought that Andy would have made a better leader. He always knew what he was doing, always had an air of command around him that Pete had to drag out of people, and always knew how to make people listen. Pete had trouble making his own council listen, sometimes. There was something about having to follow his orders now, instead of the other way around, that ruffled Shakira’s feathers like nothing else could. Any other time, the two of them were fine, but when he started delegating her way, she put her foot down with a loud tap of her heel.  
Pete wasn’t worried. He knew that, eventually, the others would accept him. They were just used to Yeezus, a much more forceful leader than Pete, and they weren’t all as supportive of his plan to open his arms to the ones in need as his friends were.  
The two years following the attack on HQ didn’t pass in a haze, but it felt to Pete, later on, like he’d been walking through water since the moment Yeezus had died. He changed the Young Bloods, slowly but steadily, until they were moving groups of up to thirty kids every two months, teaching them basic letters and numbers while they were with the faction, and then sending them to be transported with the caravan. Towards the end of the success, Dr. D asked Pete to help introduce a few friends of his looking to escape some trouble in the desert into city life. Pete welcomed the crew and, after spending a few days with them, he decided to open the whole the other way around.  
Pete opened his City Introduction Program near the anniversary of his taking over the Young Bloods. Beyoncé had approved though, one of the few times she’d outright stated that she thought what he was doing what right, and that was all Pete had really needed to know he was heading in the right direction. They lost Cee Lo midway through his second year and Big Sean was promoted to take his place. Pete was introduced to Beyoncé’s top secret agent, Elton John, when he was pulled from his latest post to take over Gabe’s tutelage while Beyoncé gave Travie a crash course in what Jay-Z had made seem to easy. It wasn’t easy, going from such a relatively easy position as heir to the much more demanding role of boss, but Pete had to do it and he needed the people he trusted more than any other to do it, so they did for him.  
A bigger picture was beginning to brim in his head, a picture he didn’t want to name - even to himself. He was going to keep it close to his chest, he decided, for a while longer. Until he saw his chance to unveil it. He didn’t know it, but that plan wouldn’t come into play for a number of years, not until the Fabulous Fucking Killjoys fucked up.  
In the meantime, Pete did his best to lead his faction, and did his best to not be jealous that Joe had managed to befriend Patrick so hard that they were sneaking out together to watch illegal shows. Pete had always imagined what it would be like to talk to Patrick, to see Patrick smile at him and know that he was always close enough to keep him safe.  
Sandman didn’t bother trying to understand that he’d assigned Joe to the task, himself. Where Pete was jealous, Sandman was nearly in a rage.  
 _That should be **us** , _Sandman cried one day, _We should be meeting him in bathrooms and gaining his trust!_  
 _We have to do what’s best for him._ Pete argued, _And face it, Sandman, what’s best for him is someone who can put their total focus on him. Joe sees him nearly every day, he’s friends with him, he’s being introduced to music._  
 _Fuck music,_ Sandman threw his hands up, _That should be us!_  
 _Well, it isn’t._ Pete sighed, _And it won’t be until he needs us. For now, Joe has done a great job. Just be thankful we can trust him with Patrick._  
 _You don’t understand,_ Sandman set on his bed and sulked, _You don’t know what I know about him._  
 _You don’t know anything I don’t know about him,_ Pete scoffed, _You’re just being a fucking baby. Knock it off._  
 _I know he’s too important to leave with a kid his own age,_ Sandman glared, _And he needs **us** there._  
 _Well, he can’t have us. What’s good for the whole -_  
 _Don’t even fucking say it,_ Sandman turned his head away, _You sound like Yeezus._  
 _Maybe that’s a good thing._  
 _Maybe Patrick is going to be in a lot of fucking trouble and instead of being there when it happens, you’re going to have to wait until Joe calls you up and tells you he needs us._  
Pete gave him the bird and returned to his paperwork. If Sandman couldn’t see that Pete was doing this _for_ Patrick, to make it so that Patrick wouldn’t have to hide who he was anymore, so that Patrick could be himself, then that wasn’t Pete’s problem. Sandman was convinced Patrick would play a role in helping Sandman remember who he was, but Pete wasn’t so sure. If he had to guess, he’d of said that Sandman had just concocted some excuse to give when he realized that he’d become as attached to Patrick as Pete had.  
Excuse or not, though, he could have kicked himself when Sandman’s prediction came true only a few weeks later and a meeting was interrupted by Joe calling into Pete’s personal communicator.  
“Joe?” Pete frowned, “Can it wait? I’m having a meeting with Big Sean.”  
“I think they’re talking Patrick’s dad out, Pete, Code Green!”  
“Code Green -” Pete repeated, confused. His fingers felt a little numb. “Code...Code Green!”  
He shoved away from the table, Big Sean looking confused.  
“Pete, what -”  
“Give me a time frame, Joe,” Pete demanded, pointing a finger at Big Sean for him to hold his thought.  
“Ten minutes,” Joe answered immediately, “They’re surrounding the building.”  
“I want eyes on Patrick at all times,” Pete ordered, “Don’t go in unless he is in _immediate_ danger.”  
“And if he is?”  
Pete paused, thinking fast, “You kill as many as you can until we get there.”  
“Yes, sir,” Joe confirmed, and then the radio went quiet.  
“Sean,” Pete dropped his finger, “You gather your best fighters, I want them ready to go in five minutes, west exit.”  
“What’s going on?” Big Sean asked, already moving for the door.  
“Stump’s been compromised,”  
Big Sean opened the door, only for it to be shoved from the other side as Andy rushed in.  
“Pete!”  
“Patrick’s in trouble,” Pete turned Andy around and started pushing him down the hallway, “West exit, let’s go!”  
“Pete, listen to me,” Andy tried to stop but, for the moment, Pete was much stronger, “Pete, this is fucking important!”  
“Tell me as we walk, we’ve got ten minutes to get to his apartment!” Pete demanded, “Ears and feet work at the same time!”  
“It’s about Patrick’s dad! He found it, Pete!”  
Pete stopped. He turned Andy around, hands on his shoulders. “What?”  
“He reported in, half an hour ago, but he used a different pattern and we couldn’t decode it until Beyoncé realized he’d regressed it! He used the same code he used when he first started the job!”  
“What does that _mean_ , Andy?”  
“No one told him Yeezus was dead,” Andy explained, looking just a little frenzied, “He thought Yeezus would recognize it immediately, but we didn’t so it took us too long to decode it. He says he found the key, Pete, he says he found information that will finally give us what we need to defeat Better Living! To take the whole fucking thing to the ground!”  
Pete, hands shaking, carefully squeezed Andy’s shoulders.  
“Where is it?”  
“He said it was too sensitive to trust with the usual information retrieval methods. He said he’d leave it with Patrick, and then we could pick him up to protect him. He blew his cover for it, Pete.”  
“Then we need to hurry,” Pete shook himself out, trying to get his brain in order, “They’re being attacked, right now. Stump, Patrick, and the key, are in danger.”  
Andy turned around and started running, so Pete ran after him.  
“Travie and Gabe?” Andy asked, once the small force Big Sean, and Big Sean himself, had come into view under the west exit.  
“No time,” Pete shook his head, “Radio them in, tell them to get a room ready for Patrick and his father. Beyoncé on data retrieval,”  
“Taken care of,” Andy pulled his radio out and Pete started climbing the ladder without any more hesitation. He climbed out of the hole in the ground and didn’t bother waiting for his team. If they didn’t get there when he did, then he’d just kill them all himself.  
 _Let me_ , Sandman begged, _Let me do it, Pete, let me at them, let me keep him safe,_  
 _Trust me,_ Pete met Sandman’s eye, _Trust me, and if he needs you, I won’t get in your way. Just trust me._  
Sandman settled, for the moment, and Pete ran. He didn’t remember running like that in a long time, maybe not since he’d been surrounded by the open space of desert, afterwards, but run he did - and run fast. He heard the zap shots almost before he was in front of Patrick’s building.  
“Immediate assault,” He ordered into his radio, his team close behind him but not close enough, and Andy nearly on his heels. Joe bled out of the shadows and followed the both of them into the building, the three of them ready to fight everyone themselves.  
Pete burst into the apartment proper with a blast of zaps. He killed two Dracs and a Vixen before they even realized that there was a new threat - a threat that wasn’t a kid and his dad. Big Sean and his team followed them in only a few seconds, and the battle was on. Pete didn’t stop crashing through them until he was in front of the door, the door separating Better Living from Patrick Stump. They’d have to kill him if they wanted to get through, and he had it on good authority that he was like a cockroach.  
The fight didn’t last long. He hadn’t thought it would, not with Patrick in harm’s way, but it was even faster than he’d imagined. Big Sean had been on top of the training, and at least four of the soldiers he’d brought had been Shakira-trained.  
“No reinforcements were called for.” Andy reported, once the last of the Vixen had been taken care of.  
“Good,” Pete nodded, “No one look under the masks. Someone watch the street, if anyone approaches, I want to know before they’re even within earshot -”  
Patrick screamed, blood curdling and agonized, and Pete lost himself for just a few seconds.  
When he was back, the door that had been sitting between himself and Patrick had been busted open, bringing down the final barrier between them.  
Pete took the boy in front of him in with a growing sense of horror.  
Edward Stump’s body lay draped across his son’s lap, blood pooling in the white of the carpet, a crimson bright stain slowly spreading and matching splatters echoed across the walls, bunched up bed sheets, and Patrick’s clothes, skin, and hair.  
“Patrick Stump,” Pete found himself say, trying to keep his voice steady but gentle.  
Patrick lifted his face from his father’s chest, blood coating his pale skin, a lost look on his face and tears flowing steady down his cheeks, creating bloody pink rivers from his eyes to his chin, where the stained pink tears dripped onto Stump’s dead body.  
“Patrick,” Pete said again, because he couldn’t help but say it again, “Patrick, I’m Pete.”  
And how long he’d waited to say that. He didn’t want these circumstances to be the ones in which he’d said them. “I’m here to save…” your innocence, your father, your home, your safety, “You.”  
“I…” and that was Patrick’s voice. _Patrick_ , his voice, sounding so hollow. “My father’s dead.”  
“I understand,” Pete nodded, because he did, “I’m gonna need you to come with me. Can you do that?”  
Joe took a step forward, like he was going to push past Pete to Patrick’s side, but Pete threw his arm out to stop him.  
“Can I...what?” Patrick blinked, eyelashes sticking with blood and tears.  
“Can you come with me?” Pete repeated, keeping his voice steady and gentle. He wanted to hug Patrick, to protect him, to keep him safe and pretend like Pete _hadn_ ’ _t_ been too late to save his father. Sandman had been right, again. Pete should have stayed with Patrick, made sure he was safe. He’d been too late, though, and now the pain Pete had felt two years ago was Patrick’s. Worse, because Patrick had never lost someone a day in his life, that he remembered. He’d not been prepared for his father’s eventual murder like Pete had been.  
“Okay. Did you come because I prayed for you?” Patrick asked, slow and innocent and quiet.  
“Yes,” Pete smiled, his best smile, “I did. Do you have anything important you need to take with you?”  
“That.” Patrick said, almost before Pete had finished. He pointed at his music player, the one Joe had given to him for his birthday. Pete had picked it out himself, traded from his own stash for it and helped Joe pick the music on it that he thought Patrick would enjoy. He’d been selfish and slipped one of his own songs in there, just one, because he wanted Pete to hear him and _know him_ even if he hadn’t known it was Pete. “That’s important.” Patrick asserted, “That’s really important. Can I take that?”  
“Yes,” Pete nodded without hesitation. “Do you want me to pick it up for you?”  
“Yes,” Patrick shook his head. “No.” He nodded. Finally, he shrugged.  
Pete, his heart breaking, knelt down and picked the bloody player up. He slipped it into his pocket with care, and looked around. “Is that all?”  
“My...my mom.” Patrick picked up a box, small trinkets and a Polaroid of who Pete recognized as Stump’s wife and partner, Ariel. Patrick’s mom.  
“Anything else?” Pete asked quietly, still trying to keep his smile. Patrick nodded, starting to cry in earnest and Pete couldn’t hold back anymore. He swooped into Patrick’s space, offering his arms and - like Patrick just _knew_ that he could trust Pete, he crumpled into him and let Pete hold him close for just a moment. He let Pete help him remove his father from his lap, let him help him stand up and take the box when his hands shook too hard.  
Pete gripped Patrick’s hand tight, and let Patrick grip him back so hard it hurt, as he led him out of the room.  
Andy and Joe took point on either side of him, protecting him from any danger while Pete stopped in front of Big Sean.  
“He doesn’t have the information.” Pete shook his head, “No way. You rip up the fucking carpet, take every single thing you can find, tear down the motherfucking walls, and then I want you to take every piece of Better Living scum in this room and _burn them in front of the capitol building._ Do you understand me?”  
“Crystal clear, sir.” Big Sean nodded, “I’ll have to get Travie to help.”  
“Do it.” Pete nodded. “And take Stump’s body back home. We’ll give him a proper send off. He’s a fucking hero, he deserves that much.”  
“Sir.” Big Sean glanced at Patrick, “Maybe…”  
“I’m leaving it to you.” Pete agreed.  
He kept walking after that, looping an arm around Patrick and keeping him safe. Patrick clung to him, pressed his bloody red face into Pete’s shoulder and shook and shook and shook.  
Sandman, silent, stared at Pete accusingly.  
Pete avoided his eye.  
He let Andy open the closest hole, led Patrick down with fingers both gentle and firm, but Patrick didn’t even put up a token struggle at being pulled below the surface, away from the sunlight. Pete pulled Patrick into his world and Patrick didn’t have to blink to adjust his eyes to the darkness.  
Pete wished, with all his might, that he could give Patrick the sun.  
Travie was gone when Pete made it to base proper, Andy and Joe silent shadows to him and Patrick, but Gabe was standing at the ready.  
“I’ll show you his room.” Gabe said quietly, serious and no smile to be found, a strange look on his face, “It’s the most secure room we’ve got, aside from the motorbaby dorms.”  
“Show me.” Pete nodded, so Gabe did. It was farther from Pete’s rooms than he would have liked, but Gabe was right and it _was_ a safe room, as close to the center of base as residential areas got and with a direct route to both the mess hall and the medical bay. This particular wing was usually preserved for soldiers that had been permanently injured and were rewarded for their sacrifice, and survival, but Pete felt like - after what Patrick had been through, he deserved the room, too.  
He laid Patrick down carefully and took the wet rag Andy gave him without a glance. He removed Patrick’s glasses, placed them in the alcove in the wall and then set the music player and Patrick’s small box alongside them. Patrick watched him, eyes hazy and lost.  
Pete didn’t think about it. He cleaned Patrick face and neck, removed as much of the blood as he could, and then he cleaned Patrick’s hands as best he could.  
“Gabe, get me some clothes. Full outfit, as warm as you can find, and new sheets. Are you hurt, Patrick?”  
Patrick shook his head slowly.  
“Some sleeping medication, too.” Pete said thoughtfully, “I don’t want any dreams. You’re going to rest for a while, okay?”  
“Okay,” Patrick nodded, closing his eyes when Pete ran the rag over his face and hair again.  
“Joe,” Pete let out a breath, “Help Patrick shower. Get the blood off of him, clean his glasses. I don’t want any blood in this room, okay?”  
“Okay,” Joe nodded and then left into the bathroom to get the shower ready.  
“Andy,” Pete stroked Patrick’s cheek carefully and Patrick’s eyes fluttered closed. He leaned into Pete’s touch and Pete nearly snatched his hand away. Instead, he let Patrick grow used to the touch, his breathing deepening. His grip on Pete’s hand slowly relaxed and Pete carefully removed it.  
“You and I are going to go through what they bring back.”  
“What about Stump?” Andy asked stiffly, looking at the wall.  
“Put Maja to use, get one of her boys to arrange the funeral.”  
“Pete,” Andy closed his hand over Pete’s shoulder tightly and Pete realized he’d been stroking Patrick’s face, running his fingers from his temple to his chin, and that Patrick had nearly fallen asleep.  
Pete did drop his hand, then, guilty.  
Patrick didn’t open his eyes, but he stopped swaying.  
“It’s ready,” Joe mentioned, sounding awkward.  
Pete stood up and Patrick’s eyes cracked open.  
“Joe’s going to help you get clean,” He said gently, not touching Patrick again. He didn’t think he could stop, if he did it again, “If you need something, ask him, okay?”  
“Okay.” Patrick nodded.  
Pete turned to Joe, hands in fists. “You don’t leave his side. Not for a second. I’ll have someone bring you both food and water.”  
“I won’t,” Joe promised. He touched Pete’s hand as he passed him, and Pete realized that his hands were nearly as red as Patrick’s had been. “Thanks, Pete.”  
“Just,” Pete tried to articulate, voice tight, “Just...try to hold him together.”  
“I will.” Joe nodded.  
Pete walked out without another look at Patrick, and Andy followed.  
“He doesn’t know you.” Andy mentioned the moment the door had closed. Gabe passed them down the hall, a clean outfit in his arms, but Pete didn’t look up from his feet as they passed.  
“I know.”  
“He doesn’t know you, and you can’t act like he has the same level of intimacy with you as you do with him, Pete. It isn’t healthy. This isn’t through a monitor anymore, he’s going to have to stay with us now.”  
“I know.” Pete bit out, “I know. I lost it, for a second. I won’t do it again.”  
“Good.” Andy dropped it. “Big Sean’s team will be back in half an hour. They’ve moved everything to a safe house and they’re ripping the walls and flooring up, now.”  
“I want it all,” Pete pulled his own communicator out, “And I want to read the report. Where’s Beyoncé?”  
“War room,” Andy pulled up the report and then sent it to Pete in a readable format, “She’s called Shakira in. They want to interrogate Patrick.”  
“No,” Pete shook his head, “That kid has no fucking idea what’s going on, his dad didn’t give him shit. That information is somewhere, right under our nose. We’ll focus on Patrick’s room, and the office. Those are the most likely places to hide information like that. Check Patrick’s clothes, before they’re sent to be cleaned, and his guitar. He hides shit in there.”  
“You can check his stuff,” Andy sighed, “You know those quirks of his.”  
“That’s a little intimate,” Pete snarked, only to be immediately shut down by Andy’s stare. “Sorry.”  
Andy turned the glare off and looked back at his communicator, “Travie and Big Sean are taking care of the bodies. I’ve set Maja and her boys on Stump, he’ll be burned and ashed into a nice enough vase for Patrick to do with what he pleases.”  
“We’ll find the information, Andy.” Pete promised, “It has to be here somewhere.”  
-  
It was nowhere.  
“He said he had it,” Beyoncé said for what must have been the tenth time in the last six hours. “He said he had it.”  
“Maybe he lost it.” Pete guessed, “We tore the apartment apart, to the foundation, Bee. It was completely destroyed with our best trackers on it. I’ve gone through every detail in Patrick’s room, I even looked through the box he took with him when we left. Nothing. His office is clean, his communicator, both BL and personal, were clean. We even tested the food he had in the apartment. We took the fucking pipes, man, the car. We cut up the tires, everything. Joe asked him. Fuck, he even checked Patrick over for marks on his skin to see if it was _written down on him._ No stone was unturned.”  
“It has to be somewhere,” Beyoncé rubbed her face, shoving her dark hair out of her tired eyes, “It has to be. He gave up his life for this, Pete. No way did he just _not give it to Patrick._ ”  
“Maybe he tried.” Pete bit his lip. “I mean, he didn’t have a lot of time, you know? They found him pretty fast.”  
“Pete, this man was on par with Elton. We have to be missing something.”  
“Yeah,” Pete nodded, sighing. He settled against the desk Stump had been using for the last twenty years. It was hard to believe that a spy as great as Stump had been hadn’t been able to fulfill his last promise.  
Probably, he had, and Pete just couldn’t figure it out. He wasn’t the leader Yeezus was. He’d never be the leader Yeezus was. Yeezus would have figured it out, just like he would have figured out the extra precaution Stump had put on his report. He would have saved Patrick and Stump both.  
The failure to find the information, the fucking _key to taking Better Living down_ , was just another failure in a long list of failures under Pete’s name _._  
-  
“He asked for you, again.” Andy commented, eating his ration with little interest. There hadn’t been a particularly appetizing truck grab in a few weeks and it was the third day in a row that Mess was serving Mystery Stew. The mystery was how they’d managed to make so many healthy, but gross, ingredients taste marginally okay. Pete was half convinced Nate was just magic.  
“Has he?” Pete tried to stay focused on his work.  
“Yeah,” Andy soaked the last of his stew up with his slice of bread and swallowed it with the last gulp of his water, “Made a bit of a scene in front of that crew Dr. D sent your way.”  
“Reggie, right?” Pete bit his lip to stop himself from asking _‘Is he okay?_ ’  
He hadn’t been able to find the information, hadn’t been able to prove that Patrick’s dad had died for a good cause. He couldn’t shake Andy’s words off from that first time.  
 _He doesn’t know you, and you can’t act like he has the same level of intimacy with you as you do with him, Pete. It isn’t healthy. This isn’t through a monitor anymore._  
He loved Patrick, but Patrick had no idea who he was. It was different, when Patrick was separated from him, when Pete could walk down a hallway without randomly catching sight of red hair, pink cheeks, bright eyes, a voice like angels singing. It was easy, to pretend, when Patrick wasn’t within touching distance.  
Now, with Patrick practically demanded his attention, it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy, and Pete couldn’t handle Patrick - of all things - being hard.  
They worked in silence for a while longer, because Andy knew when he’d made his point and he knew that silence dug under Pete’s skin more than any other thing could, until Andy’s radio came alive.  
Pete had come to hate that noise, because it rarely harbored good news for him.  
“I’ll tell him. Meet in the hallway. Clear the area.” Andy ordered only a few seconds after he’d brought the radio - turned down low since they’d been working on reports - to his ear.  
He replaced it and stood up.  
“Stump had a panic attack and he’s gone missing.”  
Pete, for just a second, felt his heart stop.  
Sandman reared his head, and it sent Pete graying around the edges.  
“Keep yourself under control until we get to the hallway, Sandman,” Andy sighed, “Let’s go. The faster we find him, the faster we get these reports done.”  
 _Let me find him,_ Sandman demanded the moment they started walking. _I’ll find him in half the time you losers would._  
 _Okay,_ Pete agreed, his breathing deep, _You know the drill, though. No attacking people I’m in charge of._  
 _Fuck off,_ Sandman snapped his teeth at Pete, _You think I have time to play cat-and-mouse with your lowlives when Patrick is missing?_  
Pete didn’t answer back. When he reached the hallway where Joe had sent Patrick to calm himself down, he could _smell_ the panic that Patrick had been feeling. It was old, stale, at least an hour old, and Sandman _waited just long enough for Pete to split up the small group of searchers into smaller groups to cover more ground before he was surging forward, pushing Pete out of his way and following his nose._  
 _He found Patrick, nearly twenty minutes later, eavesdropping on two soldiers talking shit. He watched Patrick, sitting on Pete to stop him from trying to take back control of their body, until Patrick was backing away from their conversation. He was close to stepping in, showing himself, and personally escorting Patrick back to Joe so he could be properly guilted - because Sandman could admit that a flash of those pretty eyes would have him helpless - when Patrick stopped, turned around, and revealed himself to the guards._  
 _“Hey, um, could you take me back to the mess? I’ve gotten all turned around.”_  
He’s sneaky, _Pete smiled, sitting back on his bed and watching Patrick be led away._  
Smart. _Sandman corrected. They returned to the mess before Patrick did, just to call Joe and the rest of the search teams in. Sandman tried to convince Pete to stay, to wait until Patrick returned and give him a piece of their mind about scaring everyone, but Pete would have none of it and left just as Patrick was led in._  
 _Sandman understood, on some level, that Pete felt guilty. Sandman hadn’t felt guilty over something that wasn’t connected to Pete in his life, but he knew that his human was...special. That he had a fucking hero complex, and that the fact that he found himself falling short when he compared himself to Yeezus was a cause of great concern to him. Pete felt guilty over so many things: not being able to save Patrick’s father, not being able to lead the Young Bloods like Yeezus had, not being the leader he’d always wanted to be. Sandman **understood** these things, and he could see that Pete was punishing himself, that he was keeping himself from forming a relationship - a real relationship - with Patrick because of that guilt, but it still pissed him off._  
 ** _Sandman_ ** _wanted a relationship with Patrick. Sandman **knew** that he needed Patrick. He wasn’t sure why, didn’t know how he knew, but his instincts were never wrong and every part of him was screaming that Patrick could help him find himself. Sandman wanted to **know** , who he was and what he was and where he’d come from, if there were others like him._  
 _He wasn’t a robot, no matter what Better Living or Pete’s guardians had said. Sandman was **alive** , just like they were. He was his own being, locked inside Pete, and he knew that something had been taken from him. He knew that he was **more** than just a program, and Patrick would help him find out just what that **more** was._  
 _He just had to meet Patrick, properly. Pete might have been punishing himself because of some fucked up guilt complex, but Sandman **needed** Patrick, and Patrick **needed** them - to watch out for him, protect him, guide him. Keep him safe. Sandman had thought that what had happened with Patrick’s dad had been proof enough that Pete should have been on Patrick’s ass every day for most of the day, leaving only long enough for Sandman to build his own bonds with Patrick, but he’d been proven wrong. Pete had a way of doing that, proving Sandman wrong._  
I’m just saying, _Sandman exploded a day later,_ that I don’t have time for you to mope and avoid him! We **need** him, Pete!  
I know! _Pete threw his pillow at Sandman, glaring,_ But what the hell am I supposed to say, Sandman? ‘Hello, my name’s Pete, I got your father killed and I’ve been watching you since you were nine’!?  
You’re an idiot, _Sandman scoffed,_ How about ‘My name’s Pete, I run the strongest faction in Battery City, I saved your life, and I’ve been **watching over you** for years’?  
Yeah, just be a douche, that’ll impress him. _Pete sneered, pulling the comforter over his head. Sandman threw his pillow back as hard as he could and took pleasure in it bouncing right off Pete’s stupid head._  
Fine, be that way!  
 _He slammed his foot into the wall and slumped into the chair stationed in front of the security monitor. It was Pete’s watch, but Sandman had been going out of his mind with the need to be **out** , and Pete had been dead on his feet after spending most of the last night, and all of that day, busy or avoiding sleep all together. He trained his eyes on the security feeds, cameras in the more obvious places and trip wires, or silent alarms, in the less traveled paths._  
 _It was there, staring blankly at a screen too close to Better Living movements to be used much by the Young Bloods, that he saw a familiar head of hair._  
 _“Patrick,” He stood up, their shared mind space quiet as Pete slept._  
 _He was far from the hallway, but Patrick was being **chased**. He grabbed one of Disashi’s zaps on his way out of the room, figuring that mauling a man to death wouldn’t go a long way in making sure Patrick wasn’t as terrified of him as other people were, and then he was running. Patrick had managed to avoid the medical area, where Sandman could only assume he’d been trying to get in the hopes of running into himself or Pete, and had - instead - followed the path leading out of the compound and into the outskirts of Better Living territory._  
 _He didn’t stop running until he’d made it to the general area he’d seen Patrick running in, and then he had to pause and listen. He stopped breathing, his heart rate slowing until it wasn’t pounding through his ears anymore and he could listen in silence. The sound of footsteps, running and hurried, echoed to his left and he took off towards the noises, feeling the bloodlust bubbling just under his skin. He wanted to tear them apart, the scum that were chasing Patrick. He wanted to rip their skin open and feast on their innards, soak himself in their blood and break every bone in their bodies just to hear them screaming, begging him for mercy._  
 _“_ I think you should come with us, darlin’ _,”_  
 _“_ No, thanks _,”_  
 _Sandman stopped, breathed out in relief that he was behind Patrick and pulled the zap from his waistband. The laser pointer was on and, being unused to using the firearm, he used it to aim at the next Drac to speak. Before anyone could notice, he’d squeezed the trigger, rolled with the shock of the discharge, and took the Drac down with a shot to the head._  
 _“_ Ambush _!” One of the Dracs got out before Sandman took his next shot, and then he took out the final two as they ran away. He lowered his arm, replaced the gun in his waistband and melted back into the shadows. The echoes of the gunshots still rang in the hallways, but he was used to the noises and they didn’t ring his ears as badly as they must have Patrick’s, but they would attract attention soon. Patrick would run after him, he was sure, but it would be better if they were a little closer to home before that confrontation happened._  
 _Sandman was right and, even as he moved through the familiar tunnels with ease, he could hear Patrick muttered a curse and chasing after him. Patrick was running, too fast for trying to catch an asshole like Pete, and Sandman wasn’t in the mood to play hide and seek so he stopped, turned to meet Patrick, and was surprised to find that Patrick hadn’t bothered to slow down for the corner or check to see if he - or anyone else, friend or foe - was there. Instead, he slammed into Sandman at top speeds and Sandman was grabbing him on instinct and being dragged down to the ground. He protected the back of Patrick’s head with his hand, using his forearms and elbows to absorb most of the shock of the fall, and tried not to curse himself._  
 _“_ Who the fuck… _” Patrick grunted, cracking his eyes open to check everything out. He looked at Sandman, his eyes going wide. “_ Pete _.”_  
 _“Patrick,” Sandman couldn’t help but say because, well, Patrick wasn’t **wrong** , really, when he called Sandman ‘Pete’._  
 _“_ Sandman _,” Patrick corrected after a moment more of observation. Sandman couldn’t help but quirk his lips, just slightly. Patrick was smart, intelligent and fast to learn. Even having met Pete only enough times to count on one hand with fingers left over, he could still tell when ‘Pete’ was **Pete** , or Sandman._  
 _Patrick opened his mouth, ready to speak, but they still weren’t safe, so Sandman pressed his finger to Patrick’s lips to stop him. He pushed himself up, then pulled Patrick up after him and brushed himself off before he dropped his arm around Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick wouldn’t be wandering off anytime soon, not with Sandman around. Patrick leaned against him without complaint and Sandman held himself back from shoving Pete out of bed and screaming “I told you so!”_  
 _“_ I prayed _.” Patrick mentioned quietly as they started walking together, Sandman leading Patrick through hallway after hallway, back towards his room. “_ I prayed, and you came for me again. _”_  
 _Sandman tightened his arm around Patrick. He’d...they’d always come when Patrick needed them._  
 _Patrick didn’t continue and Sandman was okay with that. A few words exchanged, keeping Patrick safe...it was enough, for now. Sandman was willing to wait, to let their interactions take their course. He could wait for Patrick to be comfortable with him. He let his arm drop off Patrick’s shoulders when they were finally safe, but he couldn’t help splaying his hand along Patrick’s lower back. **Touching him** after so long, after waiting so long to just meet him, was almost too much to resist, and Sandman didn’t have the kind of resolve that Pete did. Patrick, moving beside him, his skin stretching and pulling under his hand, made Sandman’s heart race just a little._  
 _He took Patrick back to his room and waited while he unlocked his door with his communicator, looking like he was warring with himself on whether or not to say something._  
 _The door unlocked, but Patrick didn’t walk inside immediately. Instead, he settled his mind and turned to Sandman._  
 _“_ Listen _,” He said determinedly. Sandman just shook his head. It wasn’t the time yet, not for whatever conversation Patrick wanted to have in the middle of the night after a fight-or-flight scare._  
 _After a second, Patrick deflated. “_ Goodnight _,” he finally murmured, quiet._  
 _Sandman nodded again, made himself remove his hand and walk away. Patrick would be there tomorrow and, if he mentioned to Pete that he’d had contact with him and refused to tell him anything else, it might make Pete get off his ass and actually make an effort._  
 _-_  
 _Morning,_ Pete yawned, rubbing at his eyes the next morning. He felt refreshed, and that was new enough for him that he let himself revel in it, stretch out in the red of his room and relax.  
Sandman watched him in their shared space, sitting primly on his bed and watching Pete, waiting for him to notice that he had something to say.  
 _Did you kill someone?_ Pete finally relented when Sandman wouldn’t speak first, sitting up and looking Sandman over. He wasn’t bloody, and a glance at his own body showed that Pete wasn’t either, but Sandman had halfheartedly cleaned himself up enough after a night out that Pete wouldn’t have put it past him.  
 _Yes,_ Sandman nodded, _Though, they tripped wires so it was justified._  
 _That’s nice, at least,_ Pete sighed. He stood up and started getting dressed, a little suspicious that he’d managed to awaken before Andy had come to get him up. Without someone above him to be late to a meeting with, Andy had begun to let him sleep in as long as he wanted, provided that he was up before anything important was set to happen. Beyoncé had a habit of doing for Pete what Pete wasn’t there to do, and she rarely did it the way he wanted it done, so that was another reason to get his ass up in the mornings, but he was otherwise allowed to sleep as long as he wanted. With the actual rest he’d been getting, he was a little shocked that his exhausted body hadn’t chosen to stay under a little longer. Something was wrong. He felt his stomach tighten up.  
 _Sandman, who did you kill last night?_  
 _Hm?_ Sandman blinked at him, looking unconcerned, _None of your concern._  
 _None of my -_ Pete stood up straighter, but a knock on his door and Andy’s entrance interrupted the fight.  
“Patrick left his room last night,” Andy sighed the moment the door had been shut behind him, “Ran into some trouble.”  
“Trouble?” Pete said thickly, eyes going back to Sandman. Sandman laid on his back, stretched out on his bed like nothing was wrong.  
 _You wouldn’t._ Pete stared, his hands closing into fists. _You feel like I do about him._  
 _Wouldn’t I, though?_ Sandman opened one of his eyes, _I mean, you won’t let us near him. What use is he to me, if I can’t have him? He’s a liability to us, otherwise, Pete. He can’t contribute, he’s tripping wires everywhere, leading Dracs all over the place. Don’t even get me started on the fact that you won’t enter a room he might be in -_  
“I’ll be back,” He pushed past Andy, ignoring his confused “Hey!”, and rushed out of the room. His eyes burned, images of the massacres he’d come upon from Sandman’s hands flashing through his head as he rushed around corners and people, ignoring the people calling his name or trying to catch his attention. He didn’t know what he’d do if Sandman had hurt Patrick, he couldn’t even comprehend it and that was the only reason he hadn’t thrown himself into Sandman to attack him. Sandman wouldn’t hurt Patrick, no matter what Sandman said, but Pete just had to _know_ , he had to make sure that Patrick was _safe_ , that Pete hadn’t failed him again, that he hadn’t failed Patrick even worse than he already had.  
Patrick’s door came into view, and Pete was yanking his communicator out and shoving it against the lock pad, unlocking the door so he could push it open frantically and yell Patrick’s name.  
Patrick, not even out of bed, froze at the sound of his name, looking at Pete almost blankly before he recognized Pete’s face and promptly fell into a panic.  
“What’s the matter!? What’s wrong, who died,” He took a big, gasping breathe, “Oh my god, who died - was it Joe? Please, God, don’t let it be Joe -”  
He started to sway, one hand lifting towards his throat like he couldn’t breathe and Pete took a second to appreciate that throwing himself bodily through the previously locked door of a survivor of a surprise assassination attempt wasn’t his best plan.  
“No, no, no one’s dead!” Pete cut him off, trying to make it clear that no one was hurt. No one was dead. _Patrick_ wasn’t dead.  
But Sandman had seen Patrick the night before. That was what Andy had been trying to say, what Sandman had been implying. Patrick wasn’t dead, but Sandman had interacted with him and Pete hadn’t been there to make sure Sandman hadn’t pushed, hadn’t gone too far in an attempt to make Patrick his _whatever_.  
Patrick calmed down, just a little, and rubbed at his face, narrowing his eyes to focus his vision without his glasses. “Pete.”  
He smiled, small and slow, “It’s you this time.”  
“Yes,” Pete sagged against the doorway, feeling his heart rate finally begin to slow.  
“What’s wrong?” Patrick frowned, moving like he was going to get out of bed and come closer.  
“Did he hurt you?” Pete demanded, needing the reassurance. Sandman wouldn’t look at Pete, wouldn’t do anything to prove to Pete that he hadn’t gone too far, hadn’t fucked everything up within a few hours of Pete sleeping, “Did he do anything weird, Patrick? Anything fucked up in any way, did he try anything?”  
Patrick picked up his glasses and cleaned them with his hoodie before he shoved them on his face. It was almost too fucking _cute_ and Pete had to look away from him with a noise of restraint. “Who?”  
“Sandman, did he -” he got out when he could look Patrick in the eye without touching his soft looking cheeks like a fucking creep.  
“What?” Patrick interrupted him, “No, of course not! He saved my life. I would have died if you guys hadn’t been there.”  
That brought Pete up short, unsure of where to continue with this. He’d deduced that Patrick had wandered off, gotten attacked, and _those_ were who Sandman had killed - the people who’d been chasing Patrick, but he hadn’t expected Patrick to be so...happy about it. So cheerful and defensive over Sandman. Pete was hit with a sudden brick of jealousy. _He_ wanted to be the one who made that awe-struck look appear on Patrick’s face.  
“What?” he got out.  
“Do you guys not share memories?” Patrick asked, picking at the blanket before he crossed his legs. His fingers found the ends of his sleeves and Pete could spot a nervous tick when he saw one, especially on someone he'd observed so often. “I’m not really sure how it works. I’ve only heard rumors, and no one who would actually know would talk to me about it. I was out...exploring - looking for you, maybe?” He gave Pete a sheepish look and Pete made himself not react to it. “I got really lost and these Dracs found me. Sandman saved me. And then he walked me back to my room so I couldn’t get lost again.”  
“Oh.” Pete managed. “Oh.”  
He was going to kill Sandman for that stupid, fucking trick. His emotions weren’t fucking strings to be played with and Sandman _knew_ he didn’t like being manipulated like that.  
“W-Well, then. I’m very sorry for waking you up.” He apologized, “I’ll just…be...going.”  
“Wait,” Patrick nearly reached out to him and Pete froze, “Wait, I really needed to talk to you. It’ll only take a few minutes, I swear.”  
“I, well,” Pete shifted on his feet, wanting to run. Sandman glanced at him, eyes razor sharp. ‘You do it, or I will’ plain on his face.  
“Okay. Shoot, Pattycakes.”  
“Pattycakes?” Patrick blushed, and Pete clenched his fists harder.  
“Shit,” He muttered, turning to walk out. He fucked up, he shouldn’t have let that name slip, he just wasn’t used to - used to _talking to Patrick_ , he wasn’t even sure what the fuck he was still doing here if Patrick was safe, wasn’t sure about _anything_ except the fact that -  
That Patrick had jumped out of bed and grabbed him, grabbed his sleeve with just enough force to make him stop and pay attention.  
“Wait,” Patrick repeated himself, voice determined, “I promise. It’ll just take a few seconds.”  
Patrick straightened up and looked down, letting go of Pete’s sleeve so he could cross his arms. He looked ready to fight with his defenses up like that, not scared one fucking bit. Nervous, but not scared.  
“I just...I wanted to say ‘thank you.’”  
“Patrick,” Pete couldn’t look at him, “You don’t,”  
“I wanted to tell you how grateful I am. You saved my life back there, I never would have made it out on my own. You saved me, and you saved my father’s body and all of the work he gave his life to finish. And you gave me so much. No one’s forced me to work or got mad at me for these random fucking freak outs I’ve been having. You’ve given me this fucking room, and this food and clothes. Shit, man, you...you gave me _color_. And I don’t know if you know just how...how fucking thankful I am that you took me in. I’m sorry for chasing after you when you obviously don’t want me anywhere near you for your own reasons, but you still went with Joe to look for me when I went missing a couple days ago, and you’ve been so fucking kind to me. You’re like a fucking guardian angel to me, and I just...I really just wanted to let you know.”  
Pete didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to say, ‘I’ve always watched over you’, or ‘I failed you and I’m so sorry,’ or ‘You’re the person I live for now.’ So, instead, he said, “It’s no big deal. I’d do it for...for anyone in your position.”  
Patrick smiled a little again and it melted Pete, made him want to be worth a smile like that.  
“I’m not stupid.” Patrick nearly scoffed, “You’re a fucking nice man. You help fucking orphans and...and motorbabies every day. But I’m not a kid. I’m older than a lot of the kids on the streets now and I’ve got a lot more baggage than them. Even as a high ranking BL employee in a paid for apartment, money and supplies were tight and people like you, people who don’t have the fucked up luxuries of the upper class, you don’t just give supplies and food away, not when you have soldiers and families to feed. Why, Pete? Why are you helping me like this?”  
Pete didn’t know what to say for a long time. He traced Patrick’s face, took in his pale skin and bright eyes and the warmth that rushed through him at the _sight_ of Patrick, at the thought of being _so close to him_ after so long just making sure he was safe. And hearing what Patrick was saying, knowing that Patrick understood that Pete was always there, had always been there, making sure he was safe, it made him want to explode with happiness.  
“Never mind,” Patrick flushed, looking at his bared feet, when Pete took too long debating with himself, “Forget I said anything. You can totally go, I’ll just -”  
“When I was little,” Pete broke in, because if he didn’t, he felt like he never would, and Patrick deserved to know everything if he was so willing to forgive Pete his mistakes and trust him, “My father was the leader of the Young Bloods. Yeezus, as he was known, adopted me after he saved me from Better Living’s Linda Vista Institution. When I was old enough to start taking on more responsibility, he revealed Operation Desert Blood, a deep cover mission where he took the previous Edward Stump and replaced him with your father and mother. He assigned me to you as my first mission. I was to tail you and protect you. You had nearly been killed at the Black Parade Rebellion and if it hadn’t been for my intervention in a twist of fate, you would have been. Yeezus feared you might have been in danger so I was off to watch you. You were my responsibility. I take my responsibilities seriously. I was great at my job, too. You were almost caught so many times,” Pete couldn’t help but laugh, “Playing music on your fucking guitar or just doing those little rebellions you’d do. Like walking on the road or fucking scrape your knuckles against a wall just to leave some color against the white. It sort of...proved to me something I’d begun to doubt. That people, even in the system, they wanted out. You had everything you could want, but you didn’t want _everything_. You just wanted freedom.”  
Pete took a careful breathe, because he knew what he said next could freak Patrick out, could create a divide between them that would be almost too wide to fix. How could you fix ‘I’ve stalked you since you were too young to know how to tie your shoes properly?’  
“You were sort of...mine. In a way. Mine, to protect, and mine to take care of. Out of sight and mind, but always there. Like a guardian angel. When Yeezus...When Yeezus was killed and I took over in his place, I had to give up my position as your guard, because I just didn’t have time to do it properly, so I took Joe off duty as Andy’s assistant and set him on you to watch and protect. He was pissed, at first, but you made him love you just like you made me: With these little acts that proved just how worth you were protecting. Even now, I know you must have had some way to get a guard to you last night.”  
Sandman fed him the memories, let him take the information he’d known and turn it into _knowledge_ , and allowed Pete to reach his own conclusions.  
“But you knew they were new and young so you didn’t call them. You protected us when you ran the other way. You thought you were going to die, but you still did what you had to, to save the rest of the base. So...you know,” He shifted towards the door, “You’re still mine. In a way. You’re still my charge. So I’m going to protect you, the only way I can. With the protection of my whole faction.”  
Patrick’s fingers twitched, went limp, and fell from his sleeve, and Pete took his chance. He rushed out of the room, face burning, and shut the door hard behind him. He had to get away and, luckily, he was the leader of an ever-evolving faction that needed him.  
He found Andy still in his room, sitting on his bed and meditating.  
“Sorry,” He muttered, falling into the mattress next to him, “Sandman was fucking with me.”  
“I figured.” Andy nodded, eyes not bothering to open, “He told you about Patrick tripping wires?”  
“He implied that he killed Patrick because I wouldn’t let him near him.”  
“Fucked up,” Andy commented, nodding.  
“Tell me about it.” Pete sighed, “Okay, back to business. Well, other business. What’s on the agenda for the day?”  
“Paperwork.” Andy stood up. “No more putting it off, you’re already almost too far behind.”  
“There hasn’t been much time,” Pete frowned, “I mean, what with everything happening…”  
“Paperwork,” Andy stayed firm, “Then you’re having lunch with Gabe and Travie and I, because you’ve let that stupid boy chase you off long enough. We miss you, asshole.”  
“He isn’t stupid,” Pete defended, but he still let Andy drag him into his office. He’d admit, he’d been avoiding the mess for nearly two weeks now and he had barely seen some of his friends since mess was usually the only time he had the chance. He’d woken up to Gabe, and occasionally Travie, in his bed a few times but he hadn’t seen Eric or Disashi since before Patrick had started coming out of his room, and he’d only seen Joe maybe twice. He didn’t want to meet up with Patrick, make him uncomfortable or open a door to Sandman he really didn’t want open, but he’d begun to miss his friends, too.  
“While we’re working on paperwork,” Andy settled him at his desk and pulled a pile forward, along with one of the business communicators uploaded with the latest mission reports, “I want to talk to you about an experiment I’ve been working on with Snoop. It’s purely hypothetical right now, but we’re hoping that with current technological advances, and maybe some help from that Beckett kid, it’s plausible. Here’s the file.” He slid the file to Pete, fingers working nervously together while Pete scanned it over.  
“Wow,” Pete frowned in thought, reading over the objectives again, “With a machine like this, we could reduce permanent injuries by nearly half.”  
“A healing pod,” Andy agreed, “What do you think?”  
“Full support,” Pete flipped the page, “What about Beckett?”  
“He’s an up-and-coming techie,” Andy supplied, “Around Victoria’s age, very intelligent. He’s working with a few small time crews and factions, going from techie to techie and working on new projects for a while before disappearing to work with someone else. If I can get a hold of him, maybe he could be convinced to work on this until completion.”  
“Let’s do it.” Pete grinned, closing the file, “You have some idea of how to catch Beckett?”  
“Sometime like it,” Andy nodded, “I’ll take care of it, man. You focus on this.”  
“And where will you be?” Pete nearly pouted, “I thought we were doing this together,”  
“If I stay,” Andy scoffed, “You’ll just use me to do your work instead of doing it yourself. I’ll be in the front, when you’re ready for me to proof them.”  
Pete smiled, leaning back in his chair, “Don’t I give you enough jobs without you having to worry about my shitty reports, Andy?”  
“Yes,” Andy sighed, long suffering, “But I persevere. Get to work, Wentz.”  
“Roger,” Pete saluted, cracking another grin when Andy flipped him off on his way out. The door shut and Pete was left alone, staring at his work filled desk, and an unrepentant Sandman.  
“You’re a fucking asshole,” He said, out loud, just because he wanted Sandman to really understand what Pete was saying.  
Sandman shrugged, giving him a sly look. _It worked, didn’t it?_  
Pete sneered at him, and got to real work.  
By the time he was done with his first pile, he was ready for a break. He picked up his small stack, thought of the best excuse he could for why he was ready to quit after only an hour and a half of work, and opened the door.  
“Andy, I - oh. Patrick. Hey, Joe.”  
“Pete,” Joe grinned, “That paperwork?”  
“Who knew running an underground rebellion generated so much paperwork?” Pete settled the papers onto Andy’s desk, glancing over the budgeting he’d obviously been working on before Joe and Patrick had come in. He’d have to look over it with him once Andy was done, and then probably get Beyoncé to come in and look it over, too. They’d had a marked lack of funds coming in from their Tumbleweeds and they’d need to figure out why before it affected their food storage systems.  
"You need it proofread?” Joe offered, suddenly looking like he was up to the kind of mischief that Pete loved but hadn’t had the chance to participate in for months.  
“Joseph, don’t you dare,” Andy stood up and Pete was keenly reminded that Andy could core Joe with his fingernails.  
“See, ‘cause, P-Stump, here,” Joe started and it all became clear to Pete. Andy made no secret of his dislike for Patrick, barely tolerating him at the best of times and telling Pete to control his wayward ward at the worst, “He doesn’t have a job yet, but he wants to do something that will help out. He’s pretty educated, got high marks in literacy and the like. He could totally fix those up for you. I mean, if you don’t mind an untested, barely old enough kid being thrown into the inner workings of our organization.”  
Those were Andy words and Andy’s “I’m going to kick your ass,” before throwing himself over his desk and onto Joe, proved it.  
Patrick made the wise move of sidestepping the two of them on the floor and found himself closer to Pete than Pete had anticipated.  
“I don’t mind working in the kitchens or laundry or something. Really, I don’t.”  
“But I do need a proofreader,” Pete gave in, “And you are educated in literacy, at least. It’s hard for even Better Living to fuck that shit up. I write a lot of reports, Lunchbox, and I keep really strange hours. And you’d probably have to deal with Sandman a lot more. You okay with that?”  
“None of those are problems for me, if you’d like me to go over your reports.”  
Andy, having heard, made an annoyed ‘I’m going to kill you’ noise and more firmly beat the living shit out of Joe.  
“Looks like you have a job, then, Mister Stump.” Pete offered his hand and Patrick smiled, shaking it.  
“Just Patrick is fine.”  
Once Andy had been pried off Joe and Joe and Patrick had left, Pete settled into the chair to await Andy’s lecture.  
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Andy snapped at him, slightly more direct than usual, “That kid is not even sixteen years old and you’re letting him go through our confidential, highly important reports!?”  
“He needs a job,” Pete shrugged, “Besides, I’ll only give him the unimportant ones, and that will free _you_ up from yet another job I’ve piled onto your plate.”  
“My plate is perfectly free, _thank you_ ,” Andy glared, but he gave in with a sudden hunching in of his shoulders. “Go back to work, please.”  
“Andy,” Pete frowned, standing up. Andy turned his back to him, so Pete crept back into his office, not quite sure how to go about integrating Patrick into his life - because Sandman had made it clear that not doing so wasn’t an option - while also keeping him far enough away to satisfy Andy’s instincts. Andy said something was wrong with Patrick, something was just off about him - what Sandman loved about Patrick, Andy cautioned against. Pete would have to think about it.  
But, first, paperwork.  
-  
“Reggie told me something interesting, Pete,” Gabe spread himself out on the bed, legs on top of Travie’s stomach and Travie too tired to care, “Want to know what?”  
“No,” Pete groaned into his pillow, trying to ignore his two friends so he could sleep just a little bit more before Andy came to get him. No more sleeping in for him, not after he’d started sending reports Patrick’s way. Andy wasn’t above playing rough.  
“He’s gonna tell you, anyway,” Travie sighed, just as Gabe shouted something about a new load of paint coming in from the sands.  
Pete rubbed his ears and lifted his head to squint at Gabe in the red light of the lamp, “What?”  
“Reggie owed some guy in the desert a favor so he had to hunt down all this shit, right? Well, one of the things he needed to get was a few sets of paint because the guy's an artist or whatever. My point is, Reggie found a lot more than he needed and he’s going to sell off the cans he doesn’t think his guy in the desert will want and he mentioned that he’d be willing to put ‘em on sale for us.”  
“Since when do you care about paint?” Andy sighed from the doorway, leaning against the door jam and looking their pile over with disdain. Travie patted at the space they’d left for him, separated from Pete by Gabe’s beanpole body, and Andy took it, sitting primly on the hard mattress before Gabe pulled him down.  
“I don’t,” Gabe rolled his eyes, “But you said you wanted that Beckett kid, right? Well, according to my anonymous sources, he runs with an artist of his own. If we buy up the only paint being advertised, and then sell it back into the market…”  
“We might lure out his Butcher,” Andy followed the thought, “Shit, Gabe, that’s a good plan. It could work.”  
“And, once you have them, you think you’ll be able to really work on this thing?”  
“I know it,” Andy shrugged, staring up at the ceiling, “Snoop thinks it’s plausible and I think so, too. We could have it done within the next four years, if we can get Beckett involved, and all the pieces we’d need.”  
Pete set up, rubbing at his hair, “Then let’s do it. Gabe, contact Reggie and ask how much he’d want for his whole load, and we do mean all of it. How are Morris’ and Eminem’s tunnel gardens going?”  
“Really well,” Travie caught Gabe’s foot before it could accidentally kick him in the face, “We might have a full crop soon. Not enough to make us fully self-reliant, but there could be enough to at least reduce our spending on food. If this crop goes well, Eminem plans to open another garden to the tunnel beside Morris’.”  
“That’s awesome,” Pete glanced at Andy, “Any news on our Tumbleweeds?”  
“The Disney faction was trying to move in on our turf and a few of their people defected,” Andy explained, “But, luckily, most of them stayed with us. Last month, this month, and probably next month will be down but then it will even back out, as long as Travie has plans for the next few batches of BL vans.”  
“I do,” Travie shrugged, “I might go out myself, settle everything down and personally lead the raids.”  
“Try to avoid pissing off as many crews as last time,” Gabe teased, “Mark your targets or something.”  
“They were my kills,” Travie shrugged, “Not my fault the dust bunnies can’t catch their own pigs.”  
“You’re all ridiculous,” Andy rolled his eyes, “Thanks for the idea, Gabe. I’ll set your travel time up, Travie, but we do actually have work to do.”  
“Just a little longer,” Gabe whined, “I haven’t seen you guys in, like, days.”  
“Pete’s been pretty busy, avoiding Patrick and all,” Travie agreed, laughing when Pete kicked him in the shoulder.  
“Shut up,” Pete muttered, flopping back down and closing his eyes. “Just a few more minutes, guys.”  
None of them would tell a soul, afterwards, but the four of them slept for an hour, piled together on Pete’s bed and relatively crisis-less for the first time in a while.  
-  
Pete wasn’t sure he’d made his point with Patrick, because Patrick wasn’t scared of him. How someone like Patrick - beautiful, strong, brave Patrick - wouldn’t fear someone like him - fucked up and living with a monster in his body like he was an apartment, someone who had watched Patrick for years and hadn’t even been able to save Patrick’s dad when Patrick most needed him to, escaped Pete. He wanted Patrick to be wary, to be cautious, and know that Pete loved him but that Pete wasn’t safe to be around for someone like Patrick, innocent and kind. Unused to the world he lived in, now. Pete wanted to be around Patrick every minute of every day, having Patrick just follow him as he went about his business so he could bask in Patrick’s presence and just be happy that Patrick was safe by his side. But he couldn’t have that, and it killed him inside that Sandman could. That Sandman got to have a relationship with Patrick that Pete couldn’t let himself have, that Sandman set by Patrick’s bed as he slept to protect him, and listened to Patrick talk when he was half asleep. It killed Pete that Sandman got to have _Patrick_ , even though Sandman knew that being with Patrick was dangerous to both of them. Patrick, Pete knew, would eventually be Pete’s downfall.  
So, as anyone would understand, waking up in Patrick’s room was just slightly disconcerting.  
“Hi.” Patrick said first, after a long few moments of staring at each other in shock. He looked guilty, which told Pete that Patrick and Sandman had something to do with his new situation. Andy was going to kill him.  
“What the fuck,” Pete groaned, sitting up slowly and cracking his back. He rubbed the pain in his neck and tried to think, “What the fuck, Patrick?”  
“Sandman said we needed to talk. Do you remember?”  
Pete tried to think and realized, with absolute horror, that he did.  
“I want it to be a nightmare,” he got out, barely able to talk.  
“I’m really sorry. I really didn’t think he’d tell me all of that. I know you probably don’t want someone like me knowing all that personal stuff. You don’t like me much, I can tell, and I’d hate for someone I didn’t really know or like to know all of the...personal stuff from my past. So I’m sorry he told me against your will.”  
Pete straightened up, feeling anger course through him, “Did he tell you I didn’t like you?”  
“I don’t think you like me because you avoid me and go out of your way to not speak to me when you can’t stay away. He said you were...scared. Scared to talk to me, because you thought I’d be scared of Sandman.”  
“That _fucker_ ,” Pete tried to find Sandman, but he’d set up a curtain between them, nowhere near as permanent as the glass wall from those years before but still separating them. He felt a spike of anxiety but shoved it away. The glass had been forced between them. Sandman had drawn the curtain himself, and Pete felt that - if he really needed to - he could draw it, too.  
“He had no fucking right to - “  
“I know,” Patrick pulled his legs to his chest, looking miserably apologetic, “I’m really sorry.”  
“It isn’t _you_ , Patrick,” Pete rubbed his face again, “It’s _Sandman._ ”  
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I know Sandman asked me for help. I know he needs me and he is my friend, so I’m going to help him, however I can. He told me you need me help. You’ve both protected me for years, right? Maybe it’s my time to protect _you_.”  
“Patrick,” Pete found himself reaching for Patrick and forced his hands back. Touching Patrick would break him. “Patrick, you don’t have any idea...how could you help me? I don’t even know what’s wrong.”  
And that was the crux of the problem. Pete had no _idea_ what was wrong with himself or Sandman. Sandman had no memories before Pete, and Pete had no memories before Sandman. Whatever Sandman was, whatever he was capable of, whether there were others like him - others like Pete, and where he came from...there was no way for Pete or Sandman to find out, short of going back to Linda Vista and the very thought of that nearly had Pete blacking out.  
“We’ll work on it.” Patrick’s voice went firm. His hand shook but he held it out to Pete anyway, and Pete wondered if this flood of emotion, the fear and uncertainty and need to trust that someone could help him, that someone would _want_ to try to find that truth with him was how Andy, how Gabe, how Joe had felt when Pete had offered his own hand.  
“We’ll work on it, together. Whatever it is, when we figure it out, I’ll be there to help you, okay? So don’t just...ignore me, anymore. Don’t try to hide Sandman away like he’s a dirty secret or pretend you don’t...I dunno. Everyone acts like I’m some fucking...some fucking _thing_ to you. Like I’m important. Like you care about me. Pete, am I important? Why? You said you wanted to protect me, but you don’t need to anymore, Pete. Not if it’s...out of some sense of obligation, like you’re seeing a mission through. I’m not a mission, Pete.”  
“You ask so many questions,” Pete said into his hands, shaking his head and covering his face so Patrick couldn’t see how deep he’d cut, “Patrick, Pattycakes, light of my life, you are _so_ important. So, so important that telling you how important you are makes me feel like a creep because it’s completely one-sided.”  
He looked at Patrick, tried not to show just how vulnerable he was, just how easy it was for this dumb, know-nothing kid to lay _him_ \- Pete fucking Wentz, leader of the Young Bloods - out on his ass. “I know everything about you, Patrick. Do you understand that? I was there for every missed birthday, I was there to protect you when you were scared, even when you didn’t know it, or keep BL off you. I know your favorite color and your favorite food, because I have people that tell me everything you did so I know you’re safe. I wake up in the mornings and see that Sandman spent all night watching over you and I get so _fucking_ jealous because _I_ want to protect you. That should be _me_ making sure you’re always safe. Are you creeped out yet, Patrick? I’ve been staying away from you because, if I don’t, I’ll spend all of my time at your side.”  
He took a second to gather his thoughts, take in Patrick’s shocked face, and went for broke. “You were what kept me going for a long time, after Yeezus and the others died. It was a massacre, Beyoncé and her crew had taken us all out to practice, before this base had been completed. While we were gone, the old base was compromised and BL invaded. Yeezus and Jay-Z, Beyoncé’s husband and my adoptive father, both died. So did nearly all of Yeezus’ council. You’d been what had made me realize that the people under BL’s control were worth saving, but after they died, fuck, you were what I worked for. I would think ‘Patrick would want this’ or ‘Patrick would need this in a safer world’ and I’d do it. It got better, eventually, but you’ve been such a big influence and I don’t know what to do now that you’re really in front of me,”  
“Keep me in front of you!” Patrick broke in, sounding nearly frustrated, “Pete, you saved my life! You brought my father home. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead so many times over. You sent me Joe, you gave me a place to be, you gave me a place to exist as more than this fragile glass figure. You’ve done _so much_ for me. So much. Maybe it is a little weird that you know so much about me, but I would gladly tell you all of those things myself. I’m sorry Sandman told me those things about you, because _you_ didn’t tell me, but I’m glad he made you stay. This place...these people...Pete, you did all of this. Why the fuck would I _not_ want to be a part of that? To be important to you? I’m not saying I can do anything important. I’m not saying I want to take some high position in your government down here, become some big part of the rebellion. I’m just saying, I want to support you, however you’ll have me. And I want to help you. Sandman believes I can, he believes it enough to tell me that he thinks I could do something. You’re literally the reason I’m alive, Pete. If I have to dedicate the rest of my fucking life to finding out how I’m supposed to help you, then I will.”  
Pete wanted to cry. He felt his eyes burn, looking at Patrick, and he had no idea what his face was doing, but he couldn’t stop it.  
His hands shook, almost harder than Patrick’s, but he reached out and took Patrick’s hand.  
-  
“Did it work?” Pete asked, months later. “Did you get Beckett?”  
“See for yourself,” Andy smirked, opening the door to one of the back rooms where people like Beckett were kept. People Pete needed.  
There was a boy in the room, three more on the opposite side and tied together. Gabe stood next to them, triumphant, while Ryland and Suarez stood at his side, both nursing wounds too small to be worrying. If Gabe wasn’t berating them, there wasn’t a problem.  
“William Beckett!” Pete announced, grinning. William gave him an up-and-down and snorted.  
“That’s the kind of reaction I expected,” Pete settled on the table next to William, smiling, “Sorry we kidnapped you, we don’t want to be enemies. We just had something we wanted to ask, but you’re a little difficult to get a hold of.”  
“Usually, that means I don’t _want_ to get held up.” William snapped, trying to get out of the rope.  
“Travie, untie him,” Pete sighed, “There wasn’t any need for this shit, guys.”  
“He’s good,” Gabe grinned big and bright. He was exhilarated, and that meant that William and his little crew had really put up a good fight.  
Travie untied him, though, and he rubbed his wrists, glancing between the four of them, and his team.  
“The others, too.” Pete gave in, “We want an actual conversation, not a hostage situation.”  
Ryland grumbled, but he still pulled the knot and the ropes unraveled along the three. One of them, painted fingertips making Pete think he was The Butcher, settled against the wall while the scary looking one took a step towards Pete, fists clenching.  
“I wouldn’t.” Pete warned, voice still friendly, “You’re in a room of highly trained people. It wouldn’t turn out well for you if you take a single step closer.”  
“Mike,” Beckett said quietly, “It’s okay. We’ll listen.”  
Mike, with a mutinous look towards Beckett, settled between The Butcher and the other stranger.  
“I’m really happy to hear that,” Pete held out his hand and Andy handed him a file. He knew they were coming off as intimidating, and that’s why they’d practiced for hours until they looked like actual threats. He felt a little bad, trying to intimidate a kid younger than Patrick, but he’d worry about morals later. “We heard you were a genius.”  
“You heard wrong,” William said shortly, “Can we leave now?”  
“We also heard,” Andy mentioned, “That you were more of a healer than a fighter.”  
“Carden’s the bones, not me.” William grumbled, crossing his arms, “What does what you hear have to do with me?”  
“Well,” Pete handed the file over, “This.”  
William gave him a suspicious glance, but opened the file and started reading. Barely half way down the paper, he looked back up.  
“You want _me_ to work on this?”  
“Yeah,” Pete nodded, “Not good enough for you?”  
“It’s...this, these are…” he flipped the paper, “Who _designed_ this? There are a few miscalculations that could pose problems, but these are...these are _shiny_ ,”  
 _Bones_ , _shiny_...Beckett was desert born. He didn’t look particularly scrappy, not with those long limbs and fluffy hair, but looks could be deceiving, Pete would admit.  
Pete frowned, glancing at Andy, who shrugged. They’d roll with it.  
“Our head medic, Snoop.” Pete nodded, “You’d be working directly with him and my friend, Andy. You wouldn’t be involved in my faction, not if you didn’t want to be, but a healing pod is a big advancement that would help us save a lot of people a lot of pain and trouble.”  
“What about my friends? What would you do to them, if I said no?” William put the pile on the table. Pete relaxed, smiling for real.  
“They’re welcome to go or stay, William. So are you, really. We’d give you a communicator with a direct link to Snoop and Andy, you could meet them in an agreed upon location. When you’re ready to work on it, for real, you could come to our base. We could set up a separate place. We’re pretty flexible, Beckett.”  
“I need to talk to my crew,” Beckett glanced at his friends, “Alone.”  
“Acceptable,” Pete nodded, standing up, “Come on, guys. Let’s leave them alone for a few minutes.”  
Ryland and Suarez walked out, heads high, and Pete followed them, Andy shutting the door after Gabe and Travie.  
“Are you two okay?”  
“Butcher carries knives,” Suarez grumbled, frowning, “The bitch.”  
“We thought we’d taken them all off him.”  
“They were playing around,” Gabe gave them a pointed look, “And he got the drop on them.”  
“We’re fine, though.” Ryland pouted, “We’re not giving them back.”  
“Yes, you are,” Pete laughed, “Don’t be bitter. We all get tricked, sometime.”  
“You two go to medical and get those cuts disinfected,” Gabe ordered, “And no more fucking around when you’re fighting. That’s how shit goes wrong.”  
“Sorry, Gabe,” They said in unison, taking their chance to scurry off before he could take it back.  
“You think they’ll agree to help us?” Travie asked, frowning at the door.  
“Are you kidding?” Pete smirked, “Did you see his face? He’s dying to get his hands on those plans and actually finish them. He’s a healer, all right, and trying to make him make weapons is what chased him off his other projects. This is just what he wants.”  
Ten minutes later, when Beckett opened the door, Andy and Snoop had their engineer.  
-  
“I can’t really tell you about the project, yet,” Pete said that night, sitting next to Patrick in Patrick’s room. They had a radio between them, playing WKIL quietly between them. Pete was introducing Patrick to Dr. D, one radio show at a time. The last time he’d played it, it had been a bad night for the doctor and he’d had his crew on instead - Anonymous Witness and Fuck Machine. That had been fun, especially when Fun Ghoul had dropped in for a few minutes and been grilled on his bathing tips (namely, don’t do it in the open because Dracs can smell the soap and to avoid mass-crew bathing time unless you wanted a fucking suds fight), but Pete’s favorite was still Dr. D and he’d wanted Patrick to hear him speaking.  
“But it’s gonna be great,” Patrick finished for him, laughing. It wasn’t the first time Pete had said it, and Patrick had long ago gotten used to being told information two, or even three times, in the same hour.  
“It will be,” Pete promised, “And in the meantime, Dr. D is talking about music, tonight. It’s something we’ve been collaborating with for a while, actually.”  
“And can you tell me about this one, or will Andy find me and silence me for good?” Patrick teased, playing with his communicator. He wasn’t talking to anyone else, but he was always calmer when he had something in his hands and an episode the day before had made it impossible for him to even look at his music player without throwing up, so Pete didn’t mention it.  
“I think this one is safe, seeing as Dr. D is announcing our findings over the airwaves,” Pete snorted, “Basically, what we’re thinking is that music fucks with the Dracs and Vixens. Dr. D thinks it has something to do with the audio waves affecting whatever they do to their brains when they turn them. I think it’s a more visceral reaction. I think music come from -”  
“Hope.” Patrick said, finishing the thought for him. Pete smiled, nodding.  
“Music comes from hope, yeah. And I think hoping is the ultimate rebellion. It’s something they can’t snuff out, no matter what they do. And music is just creation, and you can’t create without hope. I think the music hurts them because it’s proof that they’re failing. They aren’t controlling us, and they aren’t breaking us.”  
“Wow,” Patrick leaned towards the radio, enthralled, “And you think we could actually beat a Drac like that?”  
“We haven’t tried to _kill_ a Drac with it,” Pete shook his head, “But playing music when you fight is a great distraction technique. It confuses them, discombobulates them, and fucks with their team work. It doesn’t work too well in the city, because if the music's too loud it only attracts more Dracs, but out in the desert, where there are miles and miles of empty space, the crews can play it as loud as they want and it’s actually effective.”  
“Amazing,” Patrick shook his head, turning up the radio so he could hear Dr. D talking.  
“ _So thanks to the Sandman for his help in the findings. Crews, be careful on the airwaves and the sandwaves, looks like the tunes are a weapon after all! That’s right, my rock-and-rollers, a recent study done by my own private sources and a few alley cats has concluded that our favorite pass time can actually help you out! Alley Cat Sandman tells us it ain’t for emergency use, but upthrustin’ the volume and blastin’ that bass across the sands - especially when you run into a few pigs in need of stickin’ - is actually a way to confuse our very own Better Tomorrow. Don’t rely on it to get you out of a scrap, the study says, but it sure as hell won’t hurt to play some good ol’ WKIL while you’re zappin’ ‘em back where they belong!”_  
Pete grinned, nodding when Patrick pointed at him.  
“Alley Cat Sandman,” Patrick repeated, laughing, “I like it. He’s got a way with names.”  
“He’s a disc jockey, of course he does.” Pete teased, “That could be you, Patrick. What do you think, want to start your own radio show?”  
“Please,” Patrick scoffed, but Pete could still see the desire for that to be a _thing_ in him.  
Pete let it drop, and focused back on the show, grinning when he realized that it was beginning to wind down.  
“He closes every show the same way,” Pete mentioned, bringing Patrick’s attention back, too.  
“ _Hey, rock-and-rollers, crash queens and motorbabies! Listen up! The future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary! Do it now, and do it proud! Coyotes, make some noise!”_  
The station went fuzzy after that, the frequency scramblers finding a new station for the show to host on later, and Pete turned the volume back down.  
“Cool, right?”  
“So cool,” Patrick agreed, setting his communicator down to pull his legs to his chest and loop his arms around them, “How’d you do the research? How do you even have time to do anything?”  
“That research was why I didn’t have time for anything,” Pete sighed, shaking his head, “We had to lure single Dracs into tunnels far away from the base and then just fucking blast music for a while. Andy wrote the actual report, but the research notes were Travie and I. Now that we have Beckett and his team, though, I might be able to outsource those experiments so I have time for other things.”  
“Like paperwork,” Patrick pointed out, making Pete groan.  
“Gross, dude, don’t even joke. Constant paperwork. I don’t even know how I convinced Andy to let me go for a few hours.”  
“Me, neither,” Patrick leaned forward, “Maybe because you didn’t tell him you were coming here?”  
“I actually told him I was going to sleep.” Pete whispered back, grinning when Patrick laughed. “Don’t worry, ‘trick. He’ll come around.”  
“I dunno,” Patrick looked at the bed, thinking, “I think this is just how he and I are going to be. He doesn’t have to love me, I guess, just tolerate me. And he does more than that - I mean, he even agreed to drum for my birthday, right?”  
“That’s because he _likes_ you, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He did the same with Gabe for a while, though that was for slightly different reasons.”  
“Slightly different?” Patrick raised an eyebrow, “I want to hear this.”  
“One day,” Pete promised, “It’s a fun story, I think, but it takes all four of us there or you lose some of the magic.”  
“What a cop out,” Patrick sighed, but his voice was light and his face still relaxed so he wasn’t that disappointed. “Maybe I’ll be on one of your adventures, one day.”  
“One day,” Pete repeated, making Patrick throw a pillow at him.  
They left to grab food soon after, the radio being slid under Patrick’s bed for later, and were joined by most of their friends. Gabe magnanimously moved over so Patrick could squeeze in next to Pete and Andy only gave Patrick his usual death stare for a few seconds before Joe distracted him, and it was good. Their new normal. The only normal Pete ever wanted to have.  
-  
Pete took Patrick on that adventure. They snuck out, some paint cans Pete had nicked before he’d given the rest to The Butcher in a bag around Patrick’s shoulders, and Pete led Patrick through the city. Patrick hadn’t been above ground since the attack, so Pete was careful not to take him anywhere close to his old home, and led him to a special place, instead. It was white, pure and deep within the inner city, and Pete took great pleasure in painting all over the wall, marking up the white and ruining it with color. Destroying the perfection and making something beautiful.  
Patrick had fun, even when they were screaming Dr. D’s words and running for their lives, and he’d actually done it.  
By living, Patrick was defying Better Living. By doing what he did when he was young, he’d been defying Better Living - but Patrick had never done something so direct before. He’d never grabbed a can of paint and covered the white before - instead of searching out the gray of the wall, he made his own.  
Watching Patrick make his own gray was like watching the sun rise in the desert. Beautiful, possibly deadly depending on the day, and something not even the oppressive giant that was Better Living could stop.  
Watching Patrick, being next to him, was like...well, there was nothing Pete could compare that feeling to.  
Watching Patrick, from the moment Pete had opened the door to find him bloody and broken, to when he kissed him goodbye nearly two years later, was the Better Tomorrow that Better Living could never have promised him.  
-  
Pete was stressed. He hadn’t wanted to tell Patrick about the mission at all, really, just fucking disappear with Joe, Andy, and Beyoncé one night, and return two weeks later giving Patrick some bullshit about waking up without a memory. But he knew that wouldn’t have worked out, one of them (i.e. Pete, being an idiot, or Sandman, being a dick) would have slipped up and so that plan was out.  
Instead, he let Joe break the news. It wasn’t like he didn’t _want_ Patrick to come with them. Nothing would have made him happier, really, but Patrick and the desert were probably the exact opposite of each other and Pete couldn’t even pretend that his full focus would be on the mission with Patrick at his side, in the desert for the first time and not able to fight.  
He wouldn’t even have _gone_ , except Bill was adamant that they needed the part to make the healing pod work, and Andy and Snoop backed him up. The only crew that would trade the stupid part was the Dancefloor crew and fuck those guys, because they were always trying to trick, lie and cheat their way through interactions and they’d demanded for Pete to show up or there’d be no deal.  
“I told him,” Joe muttered, arms crossed. He was pissed that he’d had to break the news, but Pete had promised him his pick of off days in exchange so he wasn’t getting the raw end of the deal.  
“Did he take it well,” Andy asked drolly, picking through his papers, “We wouldn’t want him to be upset.”  
“Shut up,” Joe grumbled at him, sitting on his desk and deliberately blocking him from the papers.  
Pete escaped before the sexual tension killed him.  
 _I told you he wasn’t going to be happy,_ Sandman grumbled, sounding testy. They hadn’t switched out in a while and even Pete was beginning to grow tired of fronting for so long.  
 _Well, it wasn’t like you were gonna tell him, and fuck if I was. He isn’t afraid to hit me, asshole._  
 _That’s because you knew about this mission for two weeks and you’re just now telling him._  
 _Two weeks is a good time to know,_ Pete defended himself, _Less time to worry about it, just enough time to get the ball rolling. I’m going to leave him with all the reports, instead of the less confidential, so he’ll be in the know constantly._  
 _He still won’t be appeased._  
 _He’ll be okay,_ Pete scoffed, _He knows the mantra._  
 _Fuck the mantra,_ Sandman sneered, _Let me out._  
 _Wait,_ Pete fought him off, _I’m going to Patrick’s room. You can come out, then._  
 _Fuck you,_ Sandman snarled at him, but he settled down. Pete made it to Patrick’s room in record time, letting himself in with a soft knock. Patrick was sleeping, but Sandman’s chair wasn’t pushed away from the bed so Pete didn’t feel weird settling in and closing his eyes. It was Patrick’s birthday, tomorrow at least, and he had a small shindig planned for later that night. All of their friends would be there, patrols planned specifically so each of them would be able to attend at some point or another, and he didn’t want the news to ruin it.  
When he opened his eyes, again, he was in their shared mind space and _Sandman had come out._  
 _Sandman didn’t mind waiting. It wasn’t enjoyable, per se, but it was...relaxing, being by Patrick’s side. It was something that Sandman had always done, waited and watched and made sure Patrick was safe. Now, without the stupid fucking screen between himself and Patrick, it was much easier to relax and not focus on everything that could happen._  
 _He waited for what could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, he didn’t care. He just waited, until Patrick’s eyes opened. They were blue, because there was nothing reflecting in them enough to change their color yet, and he took a few seconds to take them in. He wanted to touch Patrick, press his fingers to Patrick’s cheeks, tilt his head and kiss him. He wanted **Pete** to do those things._  
 _Instead, he leaned back and met Patrick’s bright eyes._  
 _“_ I’m so mad at you _.” Patrick announced, not bothering to pretend otherwise._  
 _“_ I understand _,”_ I’m mad too, _he wanted to continue. Instead, he said, “_ But there’s nothing I or Pete can do. It was **her** call. _”_  
 _“_ Still _,” Patrick took the coffee Pete had thought to pick up for him, warm now but still warm enough to drink, but Sandman wasn’t dumb enough to think they were forgiven just yet._  
 _“_ We will be back soon enough, Patrick _,” Sandman rolled his eyes, making Patrick frown._  
 _“_ No, you won’t be back soon enough. I don’t want you to go _.”_  
 _“_ You sound like a kid _,” Sandman pointed out, trying not to smile. Patrick was always so easy to smile around and it did nothing good for Sandman’s image._  
 _“_ I’m an **adult** , _” Patrick whine, sounding every bit the brat he was pretending to be. Sandman couldn’t hold the smile from his lips for just a moment and felt his jaw twitch._  
 _“_ In the loosest sense of the word _,” Sandman teased, “_ Now stop whining. You’re supposed to be having a party or some shit tonight, right? _”_  
 _“_ I guess _,” Patrick shrugged his shoulders, “_ Not really in the partying mood. Can I ask you a question? _”_  
 _“_ I guess, _” Sandman copied him, watching Patrick sip at his coffee._  
 _“_ Why do people call you insane _?” Patrick asked, once the mug was empty. He set it down and faced Sandman completely._  
 _Sandman laughed, because he couldn’t help it. Patrick was always surprising him. That was not the question Sandman had been expecting in the least, but he was happy to answer._  
 _“_ Because I’m an unknown who is much more powerful than them _.” He felt a smile come over his face, not the kind of smile that Patrick always teased out of him, but the smile he couldn’t suppress at the thought of what he wanted to do - what Pete could only just barely stop him from doing._  
 _“_ So, they fear your power _?”_  
 _“_ And that I’m insane. Not everyone is as fond of me as you, Patrick. No one else has the level of regard I have for you. Do you understand? _”_  
 _“_ So you act differently with me _?”_  
 _Sandman shrugged, “_ Yeah, sure. That’s a good way to put it _.”_  
 _Patrick, sensing the end to that conversation, change the subject._  
 _“_ Joe found me a new bodyguard while you all would be gone. _”_  
 _Sandman went tense. “_ What _?”_  
 _“_ Pedi-something. Joe told me he was like top in his class so he’s gonna take over as my guard while you are all away _.”_  
 _“_ Why aren’t Gabe and Travis being put on you? Or any of their teams? _” Sandman demanded, nearly standing up._  
 _“_ Because of all the mishaps _,” Patrick shrugged, “_ Things have been going so wrong lately that it wouldn’t make sense to take even one of them off their team to watch over me down here. So I get Pedi-something for a few weeks. _”_  
 _Sandman splayed his fingers along Patrick’s ankle and held it tight, a sign of possession. Patrick, under his touch, relaxed._  
 _“_ We will be back. And this Pedi-something better take good care of you. _”_  
 _Patrick laughed, and finally dropped his anger. Sandman didn’t know if it was a permanent forgiveness or not, but he’d take it._  
 _“_ I’m not five, Sandman. I can take care of myself _.”_  
 _“_ As long as it isn’t dark, there are no Dracs, the path is straight and cleared and you know exactly where you are _.” Sandman couldn’t help but point out._  
 _Patrick blushed and Sandman barely held himself back from touching his pink cheeks._  
 _“_ Don’t be a jerk _,” Patrick rolled his eyes, “_ We’ve only got two more weeks together and then you and the others are off to have some fun adventure while I’m stuck here. _”_  
 _“_ Pete’s putting you in charge of reports. Gabe and Travie will report directly to you. You’re not in charge, but you’ll always be in the know, in case there is an emergency. Then you just send a message to Dr. Death Defying and he’ll message us over his radio _.”_  
 _“_ So Pedi-something won’t be with me all the time. And I’m not giving him the key to my room _.”_  
 _For just a moment, Sandman’s vision went red. He wanted to find Pedi-something and rip his flesh from his muscle and force his hide down his throat while he writhed in fucking agony._  
 _“_ No, _” He got out, making his vision clear so he didn’t hurt Patrick, “_ He will not have that. _”_  
 _Patrick went red again and smiled._  
 _“_ Shouldn’t I decide that _?” Patrick placed a hand on Sandman’s and it made Sandman feel a little bit calmer._  
 _“_ No _,” Sandman asserted, “_ Only we can have that key _.”_  
 _“_ Okay _,” Patrick smiled, voice no longer teasing, “_ My new protection detail isn’t allowed to have a key. _”_  
 _Sandman relaxed his hand but couldn’t make himself let go. Patrick didn’t seem to mind._  
 _They set in quiet after that, Patrick working on a few reports and Sandman occasionally pressing his fingertips into Patrick’s ankle to reassure himself that Patrick wasn’t leaving._  
Pete came back, eventually, feeling calmer. The things going wrong, the parties, and leaving had all piled on top of his stress from not switching out with Sandman for some time and having had those few hours of rest had made those issues seem so much more manageable.  
“Hey,” Patrick greeted gently, not sounding pissed.  
“Sorry,” Pete apologized, removing his hand from Patrick’s ankle. It had bruised while Sandman was out but Patrick didn’t seem to mind in the least, catching Pete’s hand with his own before he could pull it back completely.  
“Don’t worry about it,” Patrick waved him off, all calm and pleased, “Didn’t we have a party to get to?”  
“For your birthday!” Pete jumped up, smiling big, “Everyone’s going to be there!”  
“As long as you’re there, I’m good.” Patrick admitted. Pete felt his face go red.  
“Oh.” Pete swallowed, “Well, I mean...I’ll be there. The whole night, by your side.”  
“Then it’s already going to be the best birthday, yet.” Patrick squeezed Pete’s fingers, for just a few seconds, then let him go.  
The party was fun, seeing their friends and staying side by side nearly the whole time almost funner, and Patrick seemed to go to bed happy. Pete knew that after the night was through, he’d have to start showing Patrick around, prepare him for life as an in-the-know member of his council while he and Andy and Beyoncé were gone.  
He didn’t want to, but he also kind of did. He wanted Patrick to be a part of every part of his life, not just the clean, after work hours one.  
“Paaaatrick,” Pete waved a hand in front of Patrick’s face to get his attention a few days later. He’d just finished showing Patrick around the war room and its fancy-smancy table and they’d since collapsed in his bed. They’d been talking, for a while, before Patrick had started to space out.  
Pete leaned forward, frowning. Patrick looked so far away, eyes a dark color in the dimness of Pete’s room. Pete loved Patrick’s eyes, how the blue changed so much depending on where Patrick was. Sometimes, his eyes were such a dark brown it was nearly black, while other times they were a green nearly impossible to have. They changed so often that it was impossible for Pete to ever grow bored of them, not that he could have even if they stayed a stationary color. There was nothing about Patrick that Pete could find boring.  
“Hm?” Patrick blinked and suddenly he was back, back in the bed with Pete and back in the moment. His eyes snapped to Pete’s lips and Pete couldn’t help himself from inching just a little bit closer.  
 _Do it_ , Sandman pushed, _Do it, Pete, he wants it._  
Pete breathed and Patrick’s eyes fluttered.  
“Would it be weird if…” he started, feeling his heart beginning to race.  
“Nope, not weird,” Patrick said, immediately, like he’d been waiting for Pete to do this since they’d met.  
“Good.” Pete nodded and then kissed him. He was careful, because he knew it was Patrick’s first and because he wasn’t sure he could control himself. Sandman nearly fell out of his bed in his hurry to get to Pete, to crawl into bed next to him and bask in the feeling of kissing Patrick from their shared space. Kissing Patrick was...kind of magic. Objectively, it was almost awkward, a little too soft for how Pete usually liked to kiss and a little too important for his casual fling attitude. He’d known since he had first seen Patrick that Patrick was endgame for him, and he hadn’t pretended with anyone else, so kissing Patrick was probably the first time that the act of kissing had ever meant anything to him. He wanted to make it good for Patrick, wanted to take Patrick’s breath away and also made him as comfortable as possible. He just wanted to be as perfect for Patrick as Patrick was perfect for him.  
Pete lost himself and let his hand go to Patrick’s hip, and he felt Patrick shiver under his touch, felt Patrick move closer to him until their bodies were pressed together with no space between them. He showed Patrick how to use his tongue, how to touch with fingertips until everything was just a pleasant haze of comfort and ease, the two of them how they’d always meant to be.  
Patrick pulled away first, when their lips were bruised and sore and Pete had lost track of time. Patrick bumped their foreheads together and Pete made himself open his eyes. He took Patrick in, basked in the feeling of closeness, of finally getting to touch and kiss and _hold_ him as close as Patrick would let him.  
“That was good,” Pete flushed red, his heart still racing.  
“Good. Nice.” Patrick agreed quietly, cheeks reddening as well.  
“So, um,” Pete set up so he wouldn’t feel so vulnerable, “I’ve...wanted to do that for a while.”  
“Yeah?” Patrick smiled, sitting up next to him, “I sorted of wanted to, too.”  
“Yeah?” Pete felt his face pulling into a painful grin.  
“Yeah,” Patrick nodded, his own smile matching.  
“Shit,” Pete laughed, “Shit, is this gonna be weird now?”  
“I don’t want it to be.” Patrick bit his lip, “I really like you and...well, I figured, we already...why does anything have to change, right? We can just...add this to what we already do, right?”  
“Because I’m Pete Wentz, ‘trick. I’m the leader of the most powerful faction in Bat City and, any minute, I could die.” Pete looked down, his fingers tensing in his comforter. What the hell was he doing?  
“And I’m BL’s most wanted, Pete.” Patrick reminded him, “I could, too. I’ve learned a lot in the last few years, Pete. People die. People you _love_ die, just like that. You can be eating dinner one moment and having them bleed out in your arms the next. I know either one of us could die at any moment. I know all of our friends could be killed this instant and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He reached out and grabbed Pete’s hand, and Pete squeezed back without thinking.  
“You...we don’t lead safe lives, Pete. I’m okay with that. If what I have this second is all gone the next, I won’t regret that second for as long as I live.”  
Pete leaned over and kissed him, feeling his chest swelling.  
Patrick pushed him back down and they laid together in the quiet, kissing and whispering between the two of them.  
 _It’s my turn_ , Sandman demanded, having waited a lot longer than Pete had thought Sandman capable of. Pete wouldn’t have been able to wait that long, with the knowledge that Patrick was literally right there, just seconds away from being touched.  
And it was only because he’d been so kind as to let Pete and Patrick solidify themselves before trying to invade that Pete only made an annoyed sound before he told Patrick.  
“Sandman says it’s his turn.”  
Patrick, rubbed his fingers against Pete’s jaw line and kissed his chin. He made it so hard, sometimes, to not just attack him.  
“Okay. I’ll still be here when you switch back.”  
“I know. I doubt he’d let you leave.” Pete smirked. He kissed Patrick again and Patrick went along with it eagerly, let Pete cup his face and tilt his head. Pete let _Sandman slip into place slowly, like a wave taking back a sandcastle rather than the sudden switch from land to sea like they usually switched. Sandman’s touch was rough and he moved his fingers, pressed until he was sure that Patrick **knew** that Patrick was **his** now, **theirs** , and that nothing would take him from them._  
 _Patrick had to lean back, gasping for breath and clinging to Sandman’s hands. He looked kissed-stupid, lips bruised and cheeks flushed, hair ruined and eyes dark and hazy._  
 _“_ Finally, _” Sandman grunted, “I’ve been telling him to do that for months.”_  
 _“_ You have not, _” Patrick laughed, clicking their fingers together. Sandman let him get away with it, because Patrick was fucking cute and Sandman would let him get away with a lot of things that no one else could get away with._  
 _“_ I have, _” Sandman shrugged,_ “He never listens. _”_  
 _“_ I’m calling bullshit, _” Patrick teased, letting Sandman rub his arm and hip. He stopped Sandman’s hand when it went too far and Sandman didn’t try again, just pressed small, possessive kisses along Patrick’s jaw and neck._  
 _“_ Call whatever you’d like, but I was right.” _Sandman nuzzled his face into Patrick’s shoulder and stayed there, breathing in his scent and laying on top of him. Patrick didn’t complain, because he knew Sandman was right, and they settled into the bed together. It was all they needed, the three of them together, and with Pete and Sandman leaving in only a few days, it was all they had._  
-  
“You’re so fucking lucky,” Andy paced angrily, back and forth, in front of Pete’s desk. Gabe and Travie had taken a back seat, sitting close by and studiously doing their own paperwork while Andy paced.  
“I know,” Pete sighed, stupidly lovesick. “It was a bad idea, right before we left.”  
“It’s a bad idea _overall_ ,” Andy started, “I told you something was up. I don’t know what it is, but something _odd_ is going on around him, and it hasn’t stopped just because we’ve separated him from the world above. Something’s _wrong_ , and I don’t know what but it’s all coming to a head now, Pete.”  
“All the better that I’m with him,” Pete scoffed, “Now, if something happens, I’ll be right next to him.”  
“And we’ll be with him while Pete’s gone,” Gabe pointed out, “Patrick’s perfectly safe.”  
“Is he?” Andy asked severely, whirling on Gabe. Gabe shrunk back and Andy visibly centered himself, taking deep breathes for a few minutes before he turned back to Pete, perfectly in control again. Pete had seen Beyoncé do the same thing before, usually when she was dealing with Yeezus, actually, and it made him feel both happy and sad at the same time.  
“Look. Patrick is good for your image. Sandman makes it hard for our people to relate to you, on a personal level. It’s hard for them, because they look at you and they see The Head Bitch, with a monster inside of him. When they look at you and Patrick, they think: “Wow, he’s not so inhuman. He’s one of us.” And Patrick has good standing, mostly, so he’s not impacting you negatively. You’re a power couple, I’ll give you that. But -”  
“I love him,” Pete interrupted, sitting up. Travie stopped writing and Gabe looked up from his communicator. “Andy, I love him.”  
“You love him,” Andy repeated, not sounding surprised. “Of course you do. Who would you be if not the most difficult person in the whole fucking world?”  
Still, he dropped it. It wasn’t exactly approval, but it was as close as Pete was going to get when asking for Andy’s opinion on Patrick.  
Beyoncé wasn’t so understanding, but she’d long stopped having the same sway over Pete’s decisions as Andy now did, and she’d stopped being so hard on him somewhere around his third year as Yeezus’ replacement  so she didn’t give him too much flack. He could only hope that Yeezus and Jay-Z would have liked Patrick.  
Beyoncé left the night after he told her, and the three of them were due to leave the next day.  
He said goodbye to Travie and Gabe an hour before they were meant to leave.  
“I’m leaving everything to you guys. “ He grinned, “Can you imagine if I’d said that to you three years ago?”  
“Fuck that noise,” Travie scoffed, but he pulled Pete into a one armed hug and squeezed his shoulders, “Be good for Andy.”  
“I will be,” Pete faked a contrite look and it sent Gabe giggling.  
“We’ll take care of everything.” Gabe promised, “You know we will.”  
“I know,” Pete nodded, “Just, with everything going wrong...I’m almost scared there’s a leak.”  
Travie shrugged, “It isn’t time to worry about it now. Leave everything to us. You, Andy, and Joe do your thing and wipe the floor with those assholes before you steal their shit.”  
“We will. They’ll regret dragging us away from home for some stupid trap.”  
“If you just let me go after them,” Gabe hedged, like he had been for a while.  
“You’ve got way too many things going to disappear for that long,” Pete gave him an amused look, “Besides, I’m leaving Patrick here. Of course I want my two best friends watching him.”  
“Aw, you’re gonna make me cry,” Travie gagged, “Go say goodbye to your boyfriend so he doesn’t cry bitter tears the whole time you’re gone.”  
“Like you won’t be,” Pete teased, “You know you’ll miss me.”  
“Like a toothache,” Travie agreed, clasping hands with him. They hugged for a few seconds and then Pete turned to Gabe and his smile softened just a little. He might have been teasing Travie about missing him but this would be the first time since he’d found Gabe that they’d been separated for more than a few days and he knew Gabe was taking it a little hard.  
“I’ll be back.”  
“I know,” Gabe let his eyes wander away, “You’ll be back. I’ll be here. Everything will be okay.”  
“Everything will be okay.” Pete offered his hand and Gabe took it, pulled Pete into a tight, tight hug that shoved all of Pete’s breath from his lungs.  
“Just remember you have my honor, asshole,” Gabe muttered, “So you can’t die before you give it back.”  
“Never gonna happen,” Pete reminded, stepping back, “Take care of my faction, and my boyfriend.”  
“We will. I’ll protect them with my life.” Gabe promised.  
The three of them hung out a little longer, going over plans and measures to be taken in case of Emergency A or Surprise Attack B, and then they met up with Andy and Joe and Patrick - Pedicone following far behind to give them space.  
Everyone said their goodbyes, fast but sincere, and then Andy was dragging them out of the tunnels to stay on time.  
Pete hadn’t been to the desert in years, not since before Yeezus had died. He almost wanted to see if he could hunt Kobra Kid and the Killjoys down, see if those rumors about Party Poison and a certain Shane Morris were true, if Kobra Kid still remembered him like he remembered Kobra Kid, if -  
But Pete understood that they hadn’t seen each other in nearly eight years, that the Killjoys were rising stars in the desert rebellion while Pete had to focus on his city, until...well, just until otherwise.  
“So, where are we going?” Joe asked, pulling his head lower to protect his skin from the dying sun. Pete took a few seconds to really breathe in the air, just take it in and really appreciate the clean feeling of it. Unmasked by city smog, untainted by ash and smoke and the disappearance of people, the desert was big and free.  
If Pete weren’t so used, so attached to the Shadows and what they held for him, he would have loved to live in the desert. Well, that and the sand that always found its way under his clothes.  
“Well, if it isn’t Commander Wentz,” A familiar voice called and Pete whirled around, laughing when Chilli came into view.  
“Chilli!” He called, waving his hands until she was close enough for him to hug her. He hadn’t seen her or her squad sisters in a very, very long time since they operated outside of the walls and he had had no reason to leave base with all of the shit he’d been dealing with.  
“Hey, cutie,” She hugged him back, waving at Joe and Andy cheerfully, “You ready to follow Beyoncé?”  
“Yeah,” He nodded, “Hopefully she left you the coordinates.”  
“That she did. I installed them into your bike’s GPS.”  
“My bike.” Poison bit his lip and looked over her shoulder. Behind her set three bikes, two new models and a very familiar, beloved older model. Kobra Kid’s familiar symbol still set, a little faded but just as raw as ever, in the middle of the panel.  
“I’ve kept her pretty, but whatever he did to the insides, I just can’t copy. If she runs slow, we’ll have to replace her, but I figured…”  
“Thanks, Chilli,” Pete squeezed her again, “You’re my favorite.”  
“You say that to whoever’s in front of you,” She swatted at him, but still blushed. He went over to the bike and brushed some sand from the seat, touching sun-warmed leather and just taking a moment to appreciate the bike. The last time he’d been on this bike, he’d had Gabe with him, bloody and in need. He’d been following Yeezus.  
A bang of grief washed over him, for just a moment, and he rode it out, let himself feel how badly he missed Yeezus and Jay-Z, how much he still needed them on some days.  
But today wasn’t one of those days.  
“Andy, you’re on point. Joe and I will ride behind, protect your back.”  
“Got it,” Andy nodded, shoving his helmet on and straddling one of the other bikes. Joe settled on his own, his ‘fro tied back so he could push his helmet on, too.  
“We’ll be back in a few weeks,” He told Chilli, settling onto the bike carefully and feeling his balance. It was as great as it had been, perfectly balanced for him despite the inches of height he’d put on.  
“I’ll be ready.” Chilli winked, “Good luck, guys.”  
Pete nodded at her, got his helmet in place and gave Andy the thumbs up.  
Just like he knew it would, he had to be careful not to surpass Andy as they drove. Kobra Kid’s fuckary still held.  
They rode for hours, silent until Joe got bored and started playing a game. Pete had to wonder what Yeezus would have done, had Pete tried to initiate a game of ‘I Spy’ with him and Beyoncé. Pete could only imagine that it wouldn’t have gone well.  
They planned on only spending a day or two tracking down the Dancefloor crew. Stupid or not, they could be dangerous if not watched, so Pete had planned a day or two of surveillance before they tried to make the trade fairly - benefit of the doubt, and all. If it went south, they’d be desecrating the sorry excuse for a crew and taking all of it. Afterwards, Bill - who refused to leave the city for reasons he would not give to Pete - had given Andy a list of other materials they would only be able to find in the desert. The faster they found everything on the list, the faster they’d be able to get home.  
Pete could only hope things would go smoothly.


	2. In The Morning Sun, Baby, We Were Born To Run

-  
Of course things did not go smoothly. By the time they’d met up with Beyoncé, given themselves a couple days to get a good grip on the Dancefloor crew, and then fought the Dancefloor crew, nearly a whole week had already gone by. It helped that the part they’d been there to bargain for in the first place had been legit, and that another thing Bill had needed had also been in their shit, but it still left four things that the four of them would have to go through the whole bazaar looking for. The worst part was that, if a certain bazaar didn’t have it, then the next one in two days might because vendors shifted and changed depending on the area.  
By the time T-Boz, Left Eye, and Chilli found them, they were done with the last and just making last minute adjustments to Bill’s list.  
“We’ll need cables,” Andy was saying, pointing at one of the things on Bill’s list, “And a few nuts and bolts, sizes varied.”  
“Are they vital?” Pete frowned, “Could we find them in the city at a better price?”  
“No,” Joe scoffed, “Nothing is cheaper at home,”  
“Yeah, but we’d get a lot less shit if we bought home-grown,” Beyoncé mentioned, glancing around warily. They were, indeed, getting a number of stares, some curious and others hostile.  
“Home grown’s no good,” Andy shrugged, “It’s all about three gens behind the desert shit, and that’s the one we need.”  
“Fine,” Pete frowned, “We’ll finish up today, go to tomorrow’s and if we can’t find it, we’ll go home and send another party out with a little more shopping sense. I’ll get in contact with Reggie and see if he can throw some leads our way, being a Tumbleweed and all.”  
“I guess,” Andy frowned, folding up the marked up list, “We can sell some of the Dancefloor shit, too. Get some new stuff circulating.”  
“Good idea, I - is that Left Eye?” Joe paused, squinting into the crowd. Everyone was so brightly dressed that Pete’s group was quite obviously city born, the four of them dressed in browns, grays, and red.  
Through the crowd, a few tables over, were three more plain clothed people. They weren’t the first city born Pete had seen since coming to the desert, but they were the only familiar ones and he was waving his hand and pushing through the crowd towards T-Boz, Left Eye, and Chilli.  
“Thank God,” T-Boz sighed when they met up, catching Pete’s hand, “You need to get back to the base.”  
“What’s happened?”  
“There was a mole,” Left Eye said, looking at Beyoncé, “Big Sean and Patrick shut the faction down, called non essentials back until you got home, but -”  
“What about the kids?” Andy interrupted, “did they make it onto the caravan?”  
“No,” Left Eye shook her head, “They didn’t. They’re back at base. Travie and Gabe protected them.”  
“So no harm done?” Pete hesitated, feeling his stomach drop. They hadn’t told him anything had happened yet, so it wasn’t bad enough to warrant the faction being in danger, and the kids were alright, along with his council. That just left…  
“Patrick.” Joe said before him, “What about Patrick?”  
“You need to come back to base,” T-Boz repeated, “That’s all I can say. I don’t know what happened.”  
Pete nodded, numb. He wanted to run back to base. He wanted to leave the bazaar, find his bike, take it the two hours back to base, and then find out what the fuck had happened and why the fuck no one knew about Patrick. Why hadn’t he gotten any emergency communications, why Andy or Beyoncé or Joe hadn’t, why -  
Instead, he shut down.  
“Bee, T-Boz, Left Eye, take Andy’s list. I need everything on it within the week. If you can’t find it, leave it and we’ll pick it up somewhere else. Joe, Andy, Chilli, you’re with me. We’re going home.”  
No one argued.  
Andy wrote specifics on the list, as minute as he could get them, and then handed the paper off to Beyoncé and - after a quick goodbye - their group separated. Pete had a list of people, in order, that he needed to speak to, in no particular order. First was Big Sean, to find out how a mole had been allowed into their ranks and then stayed there long enough to cost them so many lives and missions. Second, and third, were Travie and Gabe, to find out about the damages they took and Patrick.  
He sped ahead of the group and only Andy’s calm, “Pete, if you get lost you’ll never come home,” made him slow down enough to stay in sight. He made it back to the wall within the two hour mark and he had Mikeyway to thank for that. The others joined him within minutes and they left the bikes to Chilli while they made their way through the wall and then into the tunnels.  
“We’ll find out what happened,” Andy said quietly as they walked. Even running would get them nowhere, not with sand on their clothes and BL just looking for the outlier to harass. Pete would have to go slow, walk with the crowd, until they found a place to go underground.  
“I know,” Pete nodded. He didn’t want to look at Sandman, prowling the shared space like a lion caged. He didn’t want to think about Patrick, what could have happened to him. Injured, permanently maybe when they were literally on the cusp of building a healing pod, or dead. Maybe he forgot who Pete was, or where he was, or _who_ he was. Maybe he’d lost a limb, an eye, his hearing. Maybe his voice. Maybe he’d been hurt, bled out protecting kids from a leak Pete had suspected but hadn’t wanted to say.  
Maybe Pete would have to live without Patrick.  
Neither of them could live without Patrick.  
Joe didn’t say a word. Pete thought that, if there was anyone, Joe was the one who held a worry close to Pete’s own.  
They made it to the tunnels, eventually, and then Pete was running. He knew his way around like the back of his hand, could tell where he was from the color of the walls and the smell of the air. The closer he got to base, the brighter everything around him became, until he hit the pitch blackness of their defenses. Sandman led him through them, eyesight ten times better than Pete’s and perfectly capable of seeing in the dark, and then he was back into the dimness, slowly brightening along with the wall color as he entered base proper.  
He found the mess hall, first, but it was deserted of any of the people he needed to see.  
“Hey,” He approached a random table, “Where the fuck are my teams?”  
“War room, sir,” One of the women answered immediately, “They’ve been there for a few days, since...I’m sorry, sir.”  
He nodded stiffly, and headed for the war room.  
It was packed. Snoop, Greta, most of Beyoncé’s girls, the Cobras and Gym Class, Big Sean and Eminem. More than just his council, it was anyone who might have had any idea as to what had happened, all in the same room.  
Except for Travie and Gabe.  
“Where. Are. They.” He gritted, _feeling_ the way his eyes were beginning to change.  
“Wait,” Andy stopped him, pushing him into the room and walking in with Joe, “Tell us what’s happening.”  
“There was a leak,” Big Sean answered, “Pedicone. He wasn’t, when he entered, but I think they caught him while he was on patrol one night. Things started going wrong a few weeks ago, but after you left, it picked up. He was hiding it pretty well, only giving them information released to my people, and then information he was able to steal from your desk while he was with...with P-Patrick.”  
“And now?”  
“We found his body. Shot through the head, no chance of survival. He probably died, instantly.” Snoop answered, sounding subdued.  
“We scavenged his dorm, it was clean. He was holding it all in his head, giving it to them that way. Gabe says he didn’t tell them where we were, a tactic to keep himself safe. We’re still on lockdown, and I recommend we stay that way until I and my trusted can reevaluate our people.”  
“Every one of them?” Andy frowned.  
“Every one,” Big Sean nodded, “We’re nearly halfway done. I’d say about a week longer, and we’ll have snuffed out any surviving traitor blood.”  
“Do it,” Pete ordered, “I want double patrols, I didn’t run into a fucking soul until I hit mess. I want safety priority at max, and I want security lighting out for a fucking mile around this base, and in any non-essential places, do you get me? Power is on rations until we’re sure we’re safe. New lights out until everyone is cleared, and I want to be taken to _the two men I left in charge._ ”  
“In a cell,” Shakira finally told him, “They’ve locked themselves up under your authority, calling themselves traitors.”  
“Traitors!?” Joe spat, “What the fuck!?”  
“Stump was taken,” Shakira continued, “When he went with the kids to be dropped off, they were ambushed by Pedicone and BL. Patrick made them leave him behind to save Jeremy and the children, and they blame themselves for listening to orders. Can you please go get their stupid asses out so we can figure out what to do?"  
Pete, shaking, looked at Ryland. "Take me to them."  
Ryland did.  
Pete followed, Joe only behind him because Andy was blocking the only way around him. Ryland took them deeper into the tunnels than Pete had ever taken Patrick, to the places where they locked Dracs and traitors up, far away from the relative luxury of the base. They stopped at the farthest cell, dirty from lack of use and the air dank and stale. Maja stood guard, slumped and frustrated.  
"Thank God," she stood straight when she saw them coming, "You're here to get these morons out."  
She banged on the bars, "Hey, Pete's back!", and then swung the unlocked bars open.  
Pete stopped at the mouth of the cell and, Andy a steady presence at his side, stopped himself from going inside. In a dark place, shadowed from the eyes of others, Sandman would come out and he's never get his answers.  
“Come here." He ordered, his voice devoid of emotion.  
Travie walked out, a little paler and thinner than Pete remembered but not as bad off as the person that could only be Gabe who followed him out.  
"What the fuck are you doing?"  
"We put ourselves under arrest," Travie answered, "For not being able to protect Patrick."  
Pete flinched. "What...what happened?"  
"Pedicone's staged an ambush while we were moving the kids." Travie hesitated, "Patrick ordered us to turn back. We were going through the emergency tunnel, trying to get everyone down, when we were surrounded."  
"He made me leave," Gabe choked, sounding devastated, "I begged him not to make me, but he ordered me to. He told me to protect the kids and I...I had to leave him behind."  
"It was a plan to capture him," Travie told him, "Patrick traded himself for us."  
"I begged him," Gabe swore, "I tried so hard, Pete, I did, I -"  
"You left him there," Pete realized. "You left him up there with them."  
"I _had to_ ," Gabe sobbed, covering his face, "I _had to protect them_ , I -"  
"You had to protect _him_!" Pete suddenly snapped, losing all composer. He raged, nearly striking Gabe. Andy stopped him, the displeasure clear when he caught Pete's wrist. Gabe didn't even flinch, dropping to his knees in front of Pete and shaking his head.  
"I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I tried to protect them all, but I couldn't do it, I couldn't -"  
"You're a Saporta!" Pete yelled shaking Andy off. "You're a fucking Saporta, Gabe! What kind of fuck up can't protect one _fucking person_!?"  
"It wasn't just Patrick," Travie tried to defend, "It was a whole group of kids,"  
"That never should have gone out," Pete snapped at him, "The base was on _lockdown_ , do you know what that means? It means you _don't leave the base_!"  
Travie flinched back at his vehemence, taking a step away from him. Sandman reared, nearly broke out. He wanted to hurt them, to punish them for failing to protect what was his while he's been gone doing their fucking mission. Sandman hadn't even wanted to go, hadn't wanted to do anything for the Young Bloods that would take him away from Patrick, but Pete had demanded it and Pete had thought he was leaving Patrick with good people. At least, he'd always thought of Gabe as an extension of himself, in some ways. Gabe had never failed him before, but he's failed him now. When it most mattered. Travie, he could understand. Travie had always put the faction first, had always done so because that was who he was and Pete had known that. It was like Pete had broken his arm, though, to realize that Gabe had made that choice, too. That Gabe had given Patrick up for the faction. Pete knew what Andy would have chosen, because Andy _was_ a part of Pete, like Pete was a part of Andy. Gabe, unlike Andy, had finally shown Pete what Andy had told him when he's first brought Gabe home.  
He couldn't trust Gabe. Not with something as important as Patrick - and that meant he couldn't trust himself with Gabe, either.  
"Find him," he turned away from Gabe and Travie, shaking, "I want every person I have looking for Patrick Fucking Stump! There's a reward, information will be paid for, and the person who leads to his retrieval will get a favor from me. Go!"  
Everyone scattered, except Andy and Joe.  
"I'm leading a search right now, we're running down every name we know," Gabe swore quietly, "I'll find him, Pete, I'll make it up to you -"  
"You do that." Pete didn't bother turning around, "And then, once Patrick is back, I want you gone."  
"Pete!" Andy gaped, but Pete was already walking away.  
"When Patrick is back, your honor is yours, your debt repaid."  
Gabe made a noise behind him. If it had been even a week earlier, Pete would have murdered anyone who had managed to make Gabe sound like that - shattered, heart broken, soul wrenching.  
But it wasn't a week earlier. It was now and, like Andy had said, Patrick made Pete more human.  
Without him, Pete was just the monster people had always thought he was.  
-  
"You're a fucking dick," Andy said almost before he's slammed the door to Pete's office, "What the fuck was that, Pete!? Gabe has done more for you and the Young Bloods than almost anyone else in this whole base! He's stuck by you through Yeezus' shit, through all of the changes you made, through every single fucking bit of adversity you have faced since he showed up and the one time - the _one time_ he can't do what you want, because he protected _children_ under orders of the person that _you_ put in charge - you just say 'fuck 'em'!?"  
"He didn't just _not do what I wanted_!" Pete threw a paperweight, shattered the glass against the wall. Neither of them flinched. "He gave up BL's _most wanted_ , Andy! Patrick is the _only_ link to the information his dad had on BL and he's _gone_! Patrick is the only reason Sandman is under control, do you understand that!? Without Patrick here, Sandman could snap at any moment and _I can't stop him_! I can't do anything without him, let alone control the thing inside of me while also trying to hold myself together enough to lead this faction and Patrick is gone because of Gabe!"  
"Patrick is gone because of _Patrick_!" Andy hurled back at him, the force in his words nearly sending Pete spinning, " _Patrick_ chose to go ahead with the run.   _Patrick_ chose to go with them, despite repeated warnings that it wasn't safe. _Patrick_ chose to tell Gabe to leave him behind, despite Gabe _begging him_ to let Gabe stay. Do you understand me, Wentz? Gabe was willing to stay and _die_ in a battle he couldn't possibly win, even knowing that, because of how much he _loves you_ , how loyal he is to you!"  
"It wasn't _good enough_!" Pete overturned his desk, near in tears himself, "It wasn't good enough to protect Patrick, Andy, and now they have him. We've lost it. We've lost the information, we've lost the only thing keeping everyone safe from Sandman, we've lost an innocent kid who didn't deserve any of this -"  
"And Gabe does?" Andy narrowed his eyes. "Gabe deserved to be orphaned, left to die in the desert? He deserved to be saved by you, promised a home forever as long as he only lives for you, a loyalty he gave you, greater than almost anyone else's, and the moment he can't complete an _impossible task_ ,  even despite orders to the contrary of that task, he deserved to have that all taken away? Those kids all deserved to die, Travis and Jeremy and Gabe all deserved to be massacred so Patrick could just be taken, anyway? Patrick isn't the only _innocent_ one here, Pete. He never was, and he won't be the last poor fuck taken, and he won't even be the one who had the most taken from him. He'll never end up piled under his family with a fucking spike peared through him. He won't be raised from birth with a monster inside of him. He won't be scarred for life by Cobra Bots. He won't be shipped off in a tiny fucking van across miles of desert and ocean to a whole ‘nother continent without his family. Hell, he won't even be like some of the desperate fuckers who live and die under the knife! Patrick will be _rescued,_ and he'll be taken back to safety and never put in danger again because he has a _blood thirsty monster_ willing to die for him and kill for him. _Patrick_ will be _fucking fine_ , Pete. But you? You just threw away nearly eight years of loyalty from a man willing to die needlessly just to _try_ to protect a kid, because he knew that it would devastate you to lose him. So pull your fucking head out of your ass and be a man who deserves that loyalty, be a man that deserves to lead this fucking group, and be a man that Patrick can actually look in the eye when he comes home or get the fuck out because, right now? You don't deserve a single fucking one of those things."  
Andy slammed the door after him, leaving Pete in the middle of a trashed office, surrounded by reports covered in Patrick's neat handwriting and his own fucking regret.  
Pete fell against the wall, slid to the ground, and cried.  
 _We will find him,_ Sandman hissed, wrapped around Pete and the bed he lay in. His clawed fingers brushed Pete's face, his hair, over his wet eyes.  
 _I know._ Pete agreed, mouth barely moving.  
 _We'll go ourselves. I'll use Better Living blood to trail my way to him and then I'll rip the city apart,_ Sandman cooed into his ear, his voice a pleasant and calming hum. _Just let me do it, Pete. Let me out and don't fight me, and let me find our pretty Patrick._  
 _No,_ Pete forced his eyes open. _Andy was right. I can't let you hurt anyone, Sandman. I want to, so badly, but I have to do this right._  
Pete gripped the bloody hospital gown on Sandman, his hands squelching in the blood. He looked over Sandman's shoulder and took in the shattered room, the ripped open door and the dead bodies Yeezus had left strewn along the floor when he's first walked in, shoving the first body Pete had ever seen off his blade and into Pete's home.  
 _Fuck what Andy said!_ Sandman threw himself to the other side of the room and paced, practically dripping darkness from his pores like sweat. He was shadows, incarnate, and his movements were sharp and sudden. He was a beast, just trying to escape his cage so he could feast.  
 _Patrick is in danger! We need to be out there, looking for him!_  
 _We need to be here, for now. This is where Patrick needs us. Stop thinking like we're all alone, Sandman! Open your eyes, we haven't been alone since we were seven!_  
 _We've been alone from the moment we met, Pete! All we have is each other!_ Sandman was suddenly on him again, hurling his full weight into Pete until he was pinning him to the bed, _Whatever pack or team you think you have here isn't trustworthy! This proves it! Patrick is gone and it's because we left them here with him, because we left, because we -_  
Pete reached up and pressed his palms over Sandman's face, shutting him up with a gentle touch.  
 _Listen to me_ , Pete said quietly, trying to get through to him. _You've always protected me. You've always done your best to keep me safe, to keep Patrick and I safe. I know that, Sandman. But I've done the same, okay? I've never let anyone hurt you, right? I never let Doctor Death Adder near you and I never let Yeezus use you. I've always done what's best for us, and for Patrick, right?_  
 _Right,_ Sandman grudgingly agreed, subdued.  
 _Then trust me, now. They aren't a pack, or a team, Sandman. They love us. They're loyal to us. They'd do anything to protect us, and that means Patrick, too. They're family._  
 _We don't have a family,_ Sandman snapped, leaning into Pete's touch until his head rested on Pete's chest.  
 _Yes, we do._ Pete smiled, running his fingers through Sandman's dark hair, down his neck and bared back, over his shoulders and then again until Sandman had relaxed. He didn't argue back.  
-  
Pete found Gabe in the war room. His face was wan, pale and so, so sad. Pete was almost scared of the look in his eyes, the kind of look he hadn't seen since Gabe had stared him in the face and asked Pete to kill him.  
Ryland glanced up, likely to see who it was, and nudged Suarez when he saw Pete.  
Alex stood up, eyes narrowed.  
"We're working as fast as we can. It isn't Gabe's fault."  
"I need to talk to Gabe." Pete said stiffly, "Please clear the room."  
"Not a chance," Victoria snapped, "You already fucked him over enough, asshole."  
"I can't believe you said those things to him," Nate sniffed, rubbing at his red rimmed eyes. Even he had a pad in front of him, making use of his meager contacts.  
"Get out," Gabe said quietly, "You heard Pete."  
"But -" Ryland tried to argue, stopping only because Gabe looked at him. Pete would have run from that blank stare, too.  
The four of them filed out, Nate brushing Pete's arm with his shoulder as he passed.  
"Oops, sorry, Yeezus," he muttered, continuing as if he hadn't said anything. Pete flinched, but didn't call him back.  
The door shut, leaving them alone.  
"No leads yet," Gabe intoned, "Maybe a rumor, but I'm going to investigate it at daybreak, when the source usually scurries out. We -"  
Pets hugged him. He wrapped his arms around Gabe, squeezed him into the embrace, and pressed his face to Gabe's shoulder. He hadn't realized that he was crying until he had to take a deep, sobbing breath laced with Gabe's scent - familiar enough to be home to Pete.  
Gabe stopped talking, his body tensing under Pete's touch.  
"I'm," Pete choked out, voice breaking, "So _fucking_ sorry for what I said, Gabe."  
"Pete," Gabe hovered his hands in the air, like he didn't know what to do with them.  
"I was so angry at myself for not being here, and I blamed you." Pete admitted, not letting go, "I couldn't admit to myself that what happened couldn't be blamed on someone and you were the easiest target because I know you wouldn't fight back."  
"I -" Gabe tried to say before he had to pause and clear his throat, "It was my fault. I should have stayed, should have -"  
"You would have died, and we both know it. I was being a fucking idiot, Gabe. Nothing I said was right and I didn't -" Pete couldn't even get the words out, just shocked that he'd managed to say them at all, "I didn't mean a fucking thing I said. You did the best you could, you followed orders, and...and I fucking know you always do your absolute best for me. You've never let me down, never broken my trust, and I fucking swear, Gabe, you still haven't."  
Gabe seemed to break open under his words, shaking just as hard as Pete and suddenly clinging back.  
"I don't want it," he suddenly gasped, "I don't want my honor back, I don't want to leave, I want to stay and be - be your friend, and a Young Blood. I don't want to be a Saporta, Pete, I just want to stay,"  
"You can," Pete promised, "No matter what I or anyone else says, you are a Young Blood. You're my friend, and the most loyal person I've ever met. If you could have saved him, I know you would have. I know you, Gabe, and you would have. Fuck your honor, I was lying. It's mine, and I don't want you to leave us, never. We need you, Gabe. I need you."  
"I'm so sorry," Gabe sobbed, hugging him until they were just a pile of tears and apologies, clinging to each other and crying.  
"You didn't do anything wrong," Pete reassured, "You did everything you could. I'm sorry, Gabe, I'm so, so sorry,"  
Pete didn't know how long they stood together, rocking and crying and just trying to fix the rips, but they eventually had to break apart and pull themselves together. Pete had trouble stopping the tears once they’d started and he couldn’t help but laugh just a little, at himself, at the situation. It wasn’t funny in the least, but he couldn’t help it.  
Gabe laughed back, sounding more like a subdued sob instead, but they could look at each other after they’d calmed down.  
Gabe, still pale and wan, looked alive again, when he opened the door to his team. His eyes weren't quite like Pete remembered them, still a little haunted, a little hunted, but they were normal enough to not scare Pete anymore.  
"Back to work, Cobras." He smiled a little, glancing at Pete. Pete smiled back, shaky but certain.  
They'd find Patrick, if they had to turn every stone in Battery City to do it.  
"I need to go check on Big Sean's interviews," Pete stopped at the door, "I'll leave Patrick to you, Gabe."  
"I -" Gabe hesitated before standing up straight, looking determined, "We'll find him, Pete."  
"I know you will," Pete scoffed. "You're a fucking Saporta."  
He closed the door on Gabe's beaming face and tried not to jump when Andy pushed off the wall he's been leaning against.  
"You know," Andy fell into step with him, walking at his side down the familiar tunnel leading to the barracks. Pete could still remember the exact place where he'd heard Yeezus die. "That was the thing with Yeezus. He never knew when to back down, when to apologize."  
"That's what Beyoncé and Jay-Z were for," Pete admitted, reaching out to squeeze Andy's arm, "Thanks for pulling my head out of my ass."  
"I was scared you'd suffocate," Andy shrugged. "Anyway, what I was trying to say was...doing that, it was hard. Admitting you fucked up pretty big isn't easy, but I'm proud you did it. You're exactly the man I thought you were."  
"I'm just trying to deserve it," Pete smiled, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, "You know...everyone's loyalty."  
"You always have," Andy smiled, "Sometimes, I think you forget, though. You aren't a great leader because you're ruthless like Yeezus. You're a great leader because your people love you. It's hard, being a feared leader. It's even harder to be a loved one. They'd be proud."  
Pete thought about it, the four thousand soldiers he had stationed underground, in the desert, and above the base, his council of loyal friends, Patrick, Sandman.  
"I think so, too." He quietly agreed.  
They caught up with Big Sean, got the run down on his interviews and discovered another mole - less destructive, but feeding information on their medical supply lines. She was dealt with.  
Travie went over improved security measures, adding up to a revamped security protocol including mandatory psych evals every few months, and he called Beyoncé's communicator. It didn't go through, but T-Boz text him hours later to tell him they would - hopefully - be back in two days. It had gone through relatively fast, implying that she was within - or very close to - the walls.  
He tried not to think about Patrick. He knew Gabe would find him, and Pete had to be patient. Sandman would get his blood, and Patrick would be brought home, but Pete just had to be _patient_.  
It was difficult, to say the least.  
"Pete," Gabe stumbled into his office late the next day. If they'd been above ground, the sun would have been down for hours, closer to the next day than the day that had just passed, but it was always the same time in the tunnels.  
"What happened?" Pete stood up, Joe looking up from the last few months of correspondence Pedicone had had backed up to his communicator - still on him from when the body was found.  
"It's Elton," Gabe said tightly, hand gripping the door knob, "He - He found Patrick."  
"Where?" Pete asked, because Gabe didn't look nearly happy enough for the revelation.  
"Linda Vista."  
Pete faded out almost before the words had come out.  
 _I'm here,_ Sandman set up on his bed, facing Pete. _He's at home._  
 _It isn't our home anymore._ Pete corrected, _He's with **her**._  
 _He won't be for much longer._ Sandman shrugged. _We're leaving in the morning._  
 _I don't know if I can go back inside,_ Pete admitted, biting at his fingernails, _I don't know if -_  
 _Don't be an idiot._ Sandman glared, _It's a building, Pete. Not a prison. Not anymore. Patrick is in there, so we're going. Suck it up._  
Pete nodded, feeling better. If Sandman said he could do it, then he could do it.  
"-ete?" Andy was saying, calling him into opening his eyes. He was on the floor, Joe fanning his face and Gabe watching him anxiously. Travie had appeared with Andy, it seemed, and he was guarding the door.  
"Andy?" Pete blinked, mouth thick, "What?"  
"You passed out." Andy explained, checking his eyes, "Hit your head. How are you feeling?  
"I had to talk to Sandman," Pete let Andy help him sit up, swatting Joe's papers away, "Patrick's in Linda Vista."  
"Gabe said," Travie nodded, "I'll lead the team."  
"No," Pete shook his head, "I will. I can do it."  
"Are you sure?" Andy frowned, "I don't want you to go in, and then pass out."  
"Sandman is going to do it." Pete stared at his hand, the scars Sandman had healed a long time ago still visible - if only to him. "If we're going to Linda Vista, we have some business to settle with an old friend."  
Maybe this was what Sandman had always known would happen. Pete never would have gone back to Linda Vista of his own volition. Of all places, why had Patrick been taken there? It wasn't a torture basement, it was a place of study and experimentation - at least, to Better Living. People didn't go there to be interrogated. Was it a trap? They must have known he and Patrick were close. Was Doctor Addy still looking for him, after so long? He almost didn't want to know.  
Maybe, for Sandman to have his answers, they needed to go home.  
-  
"Here's the plan," Travie clicked the button in his hand and the slides on the table changed to a grainy picture of Linda Vista. Pete hadn't seen it in years and his eyes threatened to black out again. But then he thought of Patrick, all alone and scared and hurt, and his resolve strengthened.  
"When Yeezus attacked Linda Vista fifteen years ago, they did it because there was a rumor that a high profile Doom Disciple would be there. They didn't find one, but they did find Pete. Damage, though vicious, was minimal."  
He clicked, and the slideshow was over. "This time, we're going to raze it to the ground. Elton John has confirmed Patrick's presence in the building, along with twelve living experiments. Of those twelve, Elton thinks eight - excluding Patrick - are savable. He's been put in the Success Room, where the head scientist - Doctor Death Adder - keeps her favorites and the ones who she believes have potential."  
"How are we getting in?" Gabe frowned, looking the blueprint from fifteen years ago over, "This would be a lot smoother if we had Beyoncé."  
"She'll be back tomorrow, but I don't want waiting." Pete shook his head, "Who knows what Adder is doing to him. We go in today."  
"Just before sunset," Travie agreed, "We'll be going in three teams. Team one is going in through the roof, where Elton has created a weak point in the tile. Group two will go in through the front door as distraction, and group three will be on standby, offering support and catching runaways."  
Disashi raised his arm so the people in the war room, packed as it was, could see it.  
“I’ll be leading team three, Travie, team one and Shakira, team two.”  
“We stay in communications, if a team fails to report, both remaining teams retreat and we’ll do it all over again once a report has been issued.” Travie started again, “Team one consists of Pete, Gabe, Elton, Vicky-T, Joe, and Andy. The rest of the Cobras, Matt and Eric, are team three with Disashi, Shakira and the pick of your girls are on team two. Fuck ‘em up, as much as you can. When all targets are eliminated and Patrick is safe, we bomb the place to fucking smithereens. Bill’s going to take a team in, his own, and scour the labs for anything useful, before it goes up, but once he’s nixed the lab, the place is done for, so get the fuck out.”  
“We’ll do what Yeezus should have done,” Pete added, standing up, “Get ready, you’ve got a little time to prepare. I want everyone meeting back here in three hours.”  
They war room emptied, people talking to each other and filling the exodus with quiet chatter. When it was just Pete, Andy, and Shakira left, she looked Pete over.  
“You sure you want to do this, kid?” She asked. It was gentler than Pete had heard since the first time she’d spoken to him after Yeezus died. It had been the same question, in the same setting. The throwback made Pete feel just a little warm. He’d come a long way from where he’d been before, and she knew it, too.  
It didn’t hurt too check, though, so he nodded.  
“I’ll be okay. This is for Patrick.”  
She nodded, not asking again, “I’m taking Salt, Pepa, Jennifer, and Rihanna.”  
“We want to raze the building,” Andy joked, “Not destroy the whole city.”  
“We’ll keep it contained,” Shakira smiled, lifting a hand in goodbye as she walked out.  
Pete set back down, letting out a breath and making his shoulders untense. He was beginning to ache in his left shoulder, a slight sting every time he moved his arm. Possibly, it was a memory thing, an old pain long healed that came back because he was thinking about what had caused it.  
 _You’re being a baby,_ Sandman scoffed, looking him over with a critical eye, _Get your shit together._  
 _Saying that isn’t going to help me get my shit together,_ Pete said tightly, looking over his shoulder at the door that hadn’t closed since he’d first seen it open. _Why is it open? Did you do that?_  
 _We both know it’s always been locked,_ Sandman didn’t go near the door. Now that Pete thought about it, they’d both been giving the door a wide berth.  
 _Well, it isn’t now. What if something comes in?_  
 _Comes in?_ Sandman scoffed, trying not to look worried, _Pete, this is our head. None of this is real, just...a way for us to communicate._  
 _Then close it,_ Pete frowned, standing up to join Sandman on his bed. The door was to his back when he was on his bed and the longer it was open, the more dangerous the darkness right outside of it felt.  
Sandman didn’t say anything back, and he didn’t take his eyes off the darkness for a long time. When Pete tried to get up, he grabbed Pete’s wrist to stop him.  
Suddenly, Linda Vista wasn’t nearly as scary as what was waiting in their own head.  
“Pete?” Andy called and he was blinking the dark doorway out of his sight and looking into Andy’s face, “You disappeared again.”  
“Sorry,” He mumbled, letting Andy pull him up and shove a paper cup of warm coffee in his hand.  
“You should eat,” Andy started shuffling his papers together, a little more information to be discussed as they were leaving, “And drink something not coffee. You’ve been back for three days and you’ve hardly slept, barely eaten. I haven’t seen you with a bottle of water since before we left the desert.”  
“I can’t stomach anything,” Pete admitted, “I’m just trying to take everything minute by minute. Any more than that, and I just -”  
He played with his fingers, “When did everything get so hard? I don’t remember the decisions I made last year nearly losing me everyone I love.”  
Andy, ever the busybody, didn’t sit down until he knocked over one of his own paper piles.  
“Patrick’s always complicated things,” Andy finally shrugged, “Why wouldn’t he now?”  
“You’re so hard on him,” Pete drank his coffee, feeling the caffeine try to work before giving up and seeping into his sleepy blood with little effect.  
“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again.” Andy sighed, finally sitting down next to Pete and picking up his own small cup of coffee. He downed his like a shot, probably burning the shit out of his tongue since his had still been steaming, and crumpled the cup in his fist. “There’s something about Patrick that isn’t safe. I don’t know what it is, but whatever Sandman thinks Patrick can do for the two of you...I’m not all that sure that it’s good. Maybe learning more about who you are, who or what Sandman is, isn’t going to work out in your favor.”  
“I’ve always trusted your instincts,” Pete slumped until his head and arms were piled on the table. Andy touched his fingers and Pete didn’t think twice about lacing their hands together. Andy squeezed his hand and Pete tried to breath. It was a rare day that Andy was wrong. The only time Pete could remember ever proving Andy could make mistakes was with Gabe, and Pete wasn’t all that sure that being suspicious of an assassin found half dead in the desert was an odd suspicion to hold, really.  
“But this is Patrick,” He finally said, and that was all he could say. Even if Andy was right, and Patrick ended up being the worst decision of Pete’s life, even if Patrick led to the downfall of Pete, Sandman, and every person that Pete cared about, he couldn’t even imagine regretting it. It was Patrick.  
“It’s Patrick,” Andy sighed, sounding just a little defeated, “It’s always Patrick.”  
“He’s a special kid,” Pete joked half-heartedly, the darkness outside the door beckoning.  
“He’s something,” Andy muttered and gave in. Pete knew that he did like Patrick, was as fond of him as their other friends, but Andy had always put Pete first, over anyone and anything else. And as the person closest to Pete, his best friend in a whole family of best friends, and the person who would and nearly had died or killed for him in equal measure, Andy knew that the only excuse he could ever be offered was “Because it’s Patrick,” and he accepted it.  
He ate something, because he felt really bad about stressing Andy out so much, and drank a whole bottle of water under his watchful eye, before they met in the war room again.  
Travie reiterated the plan, Andy passed out maps to be studied as they went, weapons were distributed with Disashi’s warning that any harm to his rays would be recuperated in full, and they were ready to go.  
Gabe fell in beside him as they walked, Travie and Joe joining them moments later.  
“Elton will meet us under the tiles,” Gabe said, “He says he knows which room the Success Room is. We should be in and out within fifteen minutes.”  
“Make it ten,” Shakira commented from close by, checking her communicator and typing something in, “We’re going to work our way through the building.”  
“No prisoners,” Pete said, loudly enough to be heard, “If they’re Better Living, and they come out of that building, I want them dead.”  
“Dead for real,” Gabe followed up, “Confirmed kills, please! Remember what happened to Freddie.”  
There was a collective rustle of rays and clothes, quiet agreement. Everyone remembered what happened to Freddie.  
Linda Vista was on the other side of the city. The tunnels reached that far, but after about six miles, less renovations and light fixtures the farther they went, the tunnels became too dangerous to keep using. In pitch darkness, they couldn’t see holes in the ground leading to deadly rubble piles below, or the occasional bottomless pit similar to the one close to base. Pete wasn’t quite sure why the original builders had _needed_ a few harmless bottomless pits around, but they had for some reason that had probably made sense to them. They made their way to the surface after the first near fall, because a first survival was luck but a second survival was just unlikely, and Pete had been in the sun for days on end only three days ago but he’d missed it while he’d been underground. Once he had Patrick safe, he was going to take him outside the walls and show him what it felt like to have the sun against his skin with no screen of smog to protect it. Patrick would burn, because he was pale as shit, but the pain would be worth it for the feeling of warmth. Patrick would like the desert, the ability to run for hours and hours and never have to stop, being able to scream and sing and be as loud as he wanted. Patrick was meant for open air. Pete would rip the sky open for him, if that was what he wanted.  
“I’ll send you a static burst, three with five second intermittence, once we’re inside.” Travie said to Shakira when they’d reached about half a mile from the facility.  
“Be careful, guys,” She slapped her hand to Travie’s and then he did the same with Disashi, and team one was separating from the group.  
Gabe took point once they’d gotten close enough that Pete was beginning to feel his blood rushing. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but Sandman was louder, whispering that this was it, this was their chance to get their answers, to save Patrick, to get revenge on Doctor Death Adder.  
Gabe went silent, and the rest of them followed suit. They spoke through hand motions, Gabe taking them along the edges of the big building, keeping to the shadows of the surrounding buildings. There was a sign, announcing to the world that this was Linda Vista Community Hospital, and Pete wanted to smash it to bits, destroy it so nothing was left once the building went down.  
But they had to find Patrick first.  
Gabe stopped at the farthest corner of the back of the tall building, pointing at the wall, and then up, and then he started climbing. Pete looked closer and realized that someone had dug grooves in the wall for hand and foot holds. When they’d finished, he’d have to thank Elton as profusely as he could. Give him a vacation or some shit.  
They climbed, the seven of them, one after the other, and made it to the top with only a few minor death-defying stunts.  
“We’ve got to hurry,” Gabe whispered when Joe had brought up the rear, “Elton said security would only be down for a few seconds. The second our feet touch the ground, we’re on a time crunch. The first door we open will set off an alarm and gas will be released into the air ten minutes after the alarm starts. We’ll time it so Shakira is in and they trigger the alarm first. While they’re distracted, we’ll be led to the control room and turn off the gas. Following that, we find Patrick and get the fuck out.”  
“What about the others?” Vicky-T asked, “You said Elton thought there were eight experiments that could be recovered.”  
“If they’re savable, we save them.” Andy informed the group, “If they aren’t, don’t waste your time. We’re on a time limit and this is a recovery, not a rescue.”  
Gabe, on hands and knees, felt around until he’d found the right area - which took nearly ten minutes of carefully pushing against concrete until his scraped palms bled - and then he was pushing a sliding tile up and the inches of concrete between them and the indoors was gone. All that was left was insulation and support, drywall that stood no chance of staying between Pete and Patrick.  
To say the least, it took little time for them to make their way inside.  
Pete didn’t know how he would feel, stepping foot on the white tile of Linda Vista for the first time in fifteen years. Really, it was like stepping on any other piece of flooring, except for the high possibility that he’d actually once been dragged, bleeding and screaming, down that very tile a decade and a half earlier.  
From the only open door in the hallway they landed in, Elton emerged. He was dressed in black, from his slacks to his turtleneck sweater. It was cool in the building, and Pete thought that a sweater might actually be comfortable, if he weren’t sweating bullets, if he weren’t so suddenly burning up that it felt like he’d stumbled back into the desert. His pulse raced, loud enough that it was actually hard for him to hear anything.  
 _I can’t do it,_ he realized, feeling dizzy and pained, _Sandman, I can’t do it._  
He wanted to, so badly, he wanted to be brave for Patrick and strong for Sandman, wanted to be there to protect the people he loved and the people he was responsible for, but he couldn’t.  
 _You can’t,_ Sandman agreed, squeezing his hand. It really was like Pete was six years old again, long used to Sandman and long away from rescue, just trying to survive the pain every day without losing their minds. Sandman had been so gentle with him when he was a child, a force that would protect him when Pete couldn’t protect himself. _But we can. We protect each other, remember?_  
Sandman looked at him, determined and fucking terrified. Sandman was big, all powerful, a monster, but he’d been caged, tamed, reduced to Pete’s size, and it had been in this building that he’d understood that even something like him could be broken if pushed enough. Pete wasn’t alone in his fear, and that helped him to breathe through it.  
“Elton,” He greeted, going for normal. If he hadn’t been in a group of his closest friends, he might have achieved it.  
“Pete,” Elton smiled, face kind and familiar. Pete hadn’t seen him in months, since he’d managed to infiltrate Better Living and Linda Vista, and Pete had missed him.  
“I heard you found something of mine,” Pete settled on saying, going for business. He and Elton would have plenty of time to catch up, now that Elton had blown his cover to help Pete find Patrick.  
“I think so,” Elton nodded, “You have a distraction, I heard?”  
“I’ve given them the signal,” Travie nodded, holding up his radio. “Now, we wait for alarms to sound, and you lead our happy asses to the control room.”  
“You’ll have to fight a few off,” Elton warned, “I’m magic, but not that good.”  
“That’s why we brought Gabe and Vicky-T.” Pete admitted, “And if they have trouble, Joe and Travie are handy to have in a fight. Andy’ll be working with the system for us.”  
The alarms went off, perfectly on schedule, and Elton was taking Gabe’s place, leading them through a few doors and hallways Pete tried desperately not to recognize. They passed a certain door and Pete was suddenly five, Sandman a new and alien feeling in his head and so much pain in his small body that he wasn’t sure he could ever move again. Then Andy was grabbing his wrist and dragging him away.  
By the time they made it to the control room, Pete was holding on by a thread. Outside of the room, at least fifteen Dracs stood guard and Pete didn’t doubt that there were more waiting.  
“We won’t be in and out in ten minutes,” Pete muttered, glancing around the corner, “It just won’t happen. Too close a call.”  
“Elton,” Andy frowned, “Take Pete to the Success Room. We’ll get through and turn off the gas, while you guys make your way towards the exit. We’ll meet up before we plant the bombs.”  
“You want to separate?” Pete frowned, because it was never Andy who advocated being separated from Pete in sticky situations.  
“I want you to get your hands on Patrick, so you can get a hold of yourself,” Andy said firmly, “You’re hinging on the edges, man. Go. We’ll meet back up, soon. Don’t die while we’re busy, got it?”  
“Got it,” Pete agreed, not willing to argue. He didn’t want to leave his team, but he could _feel_ that Patrick was close by, was just waiting for him.  
“Once you’re in,” Elton explained, “Shut down the alarms. That’ll stop the gas immediately. If you can’t do that, then shut down the whole air system.”  
“Got it,” Andy confirmed, “Now get going.”  
Elton and Pete went the opposite way to the rest of the team. Pete heard them go into battle behind him, but he didn’t dare look behind him. He had to find Patrick, before it was too late, and watching his friends fight without him would only force him to prolong his finding Patrick all the longer.  
Elton led him down doorway after doorway. The lower they went, the more flashbacks Pete fell into.  
 _Please, Sandman,_ he finally broke, _I can’t do it myself. Please._  
Sandman hovered, unsure. Pete remembered a flash of the time Doctor Death Adder had cut his arm open to see his tendons move, and _Sandman was out._  
 _The world inside Linda Vista had seemed so huge to him, when he was still in the body of a child. Now, it was nearly the same as the tunnels, minus the color scheme. In one way or another, he’d spent most of the life he remembered in hallways like these._  
 _“_ It’s here, _” Elton got out, and then rammed his shoulder into a door._  
 _It flew open with his weight, revealing a white room, painting with speckles and pools of red in some places near the door, trashed walls and curtains,_  
 _“_ Is he here? Get out of the way, Elton! _” Sandman shoved Elton out of the way and walked in himself - and there he was. Patrick. Patrick, right in front of him, bruised and a little bloody, and obviously traumatized, but **alive** and fucking beautiful._  
 _“_ Sandman, _” Patrick pushed passed a blond boy's arm, looking elated, disbelieving, and more relieved than Sandman had ever seen him. “_ Sandman!”  
“Patrick.” _Sandman took a step forward and then Patrick was throwing himself across the room and into him. They caught each other and then Sandman leaned down and took Patrick’s lips in a hard, desperate, relieved kiss and Patrick didn’t fight him for a single breath. He pressed just as close as Sandman pulled him, grabbed the hinges of his jaw and held him like Patrick was scared he’d disappear._  
 _“I found you,” Sandman whispered, when he finally let the kiss break apart._  
 _“I knew you would,” Patrick promised, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, anywhere his lips could reach that didn’t hinder Sandman’s speech, “I knew you would, I didn’t doubt it for a  second. You’re my guardian angel.”_  
 _“Good,” Sandman nodded, feeling almost overwhelmed by Patrick’s confidence. He didn’t look surprised to see him, like he really had been expecting him at any second. Sandman had to wonder if Patrick had been expecting him every second of the last week._  
 _“Can I see Pete?” Patrick asked, “I want to see him, too,”_  
Yes, _Pete agreed. In their share room, the two of them were intertwined, barely enough space between them for thought, and Sandman felt Pete, made sure Pete could handle being in the room. The Success Room, aptly named, had been cleaned and redone from their time, but it was still familiar as the room the two of them were lying in._  
 _Finally, he nodded, and closed his eyes and_ Pete pushed forward, out of the white room. His legs gave out, for just a moment, but then he was standing and his eyes were on Patrick.  
“Oh, God, Patrick,” Pete pressed their foreheads together, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry it took so long,”  
“You came,” Patrick sobbed, managing to laugh like it was over now, “I told them you would, and I waited. I waited, and you’re here now,”  
“Rescue,” One of the people in the beds, a man with little hair and seemingly enough scars to make up for every follicle missing, said.  
“Rescue?” Another one repeated, all baby face and terrified.  
“Rescue,” Patrick smiled, turning a little from Pete to look at them, “Pete, these are my friends. They’re coming with me.”  
“Of course,” Pete nodded, already making plans, “Did they hurt you?”  
“Bob and Ravenous protected me,” Patrick shook his head. There was something he wasn’t telling Pete, was holding back, and he seemed suddenly ready to spill. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. They didn’t hurt me but...but, they put something...in me. Like Sandman.”  
Pete heard a laugh and, opening his eyes back into the white room in his head, there was Patrick standing in the open doorway. With eyes bright like gold, it wasn’t Patrick, but it was his body.  
“It’s okay,” Patrick promised, back behind Pete’s eyelids, “I’ll tell you about it. Let’s just go. I want to go, Pete, please,”  
“Yeah,” Pete nodded, slowly. The Patrick in the doorway wasn’t moving, saying anything, just standing there with a smile on his face painted with blood and enough red blush to make a desert born jealous, and Pete had to focus on getting his people to safety. Sandman would watch this stranger in a lover’s body, and then they would decide what to do.  
“Yeah, let’s get out of here. Elton, make sure they’re okay to move.”  
“We’re all fine,” The scarred man from before said, stopping Elton from coming any closer, “It would be better if he didn’t. Come near us, I mean.”  
“Ravenous is still,” The blond boy who had been standing in front of them clutched at the scarred man’s knee. He’d fallen into the bed at some point and looked barely able to speak. His eyes, blue one moment and purple the next, made Pete hesitate.  
“He’s confused.”  
“It’s okay,” Patrick reassured him, moving away from Pete. It was like losing a limb, letting him go, but they needed to hurry and Patrick seemed confident that he could go near the blond boy without a problem. When Pete blinked, the Patrick in their shared mind was gone and Sandman was trying to shove the door closed as hard as he could.  
“It’s okay, just come with us.”  
He reached out his hand and Pete recognized that gesture, that building a bridge between fear and hope.  
“Bob,” The scarred man pressed his face to Bob’s shoulder, “Whatever you decide. We can stay here, let it end. We can go. I’m not leaving you.”  
“Us, either,” Another of the kids, tall and bony, reached out and grabbed Bob’s arm, “We’re not leaving without you.”  
“Come on, Bob.” Patrick smiled and whatever warning that they had to hurry left his mind.  
“Whatever you decide,” The scarred man said, “You’re wish is my wish.”  
Bob, after a moment of thought, reached out and grabbed Patrick’s hand.  
“Travie, come in,” Pete called into his radio, opening the door wider, “How’s it looking?”  
“Gas is down,” Travie said into his own radio after a moment’s pause where it was nothing but static, “Control room cleared.”  
“Get out, lock the door somehow, and get down to the Success Room. We’ve got him, and eight others ready to go. We’ll meet you on the way.”  
“Roger,” Travie confirmed, “I’ll let Disashi and Shakira know.”  
“Do it.” Pete set the radio back down and waited. Andy would be to the room, soon, and then - hopefully, between the four of them - they could help get Patrick’s new friends home.  
Andy did show up, much faster than even Pete had thought he would.  
“What’s going on? You’re still in the room” Andy frowned upon seeing Pete.  
“Andy!” Patrick grinned, looking like he hadn't been anywhere but a slightly trying vacation the whole time for all that he’d been kidnapped and possibly tortured.  
“Patrick,” Andy smiled, just a little bit, and allowed Patrick to hug him for a full six seconds before his hair was ruffled and he was set aside. “We need to go. Who can’t walk?”  
“Me,” A boy with cloudy blue eyes mumbled, “My foot was, um,”  
“They broke his ankle,” The skeleton grunted, sounding pissed off and ready of fight about it.  
“Andy, can you help Spencer, please?” Patrick ask, looking the group over quickly, “I’ll help Brian with Bob, and Ryan and Brendon can help Dallon. Brent, Jon are you okay to walk?”  
“Fine, as long as we’re actually getting out of here,” Brent sniffed, hard, and the eight of them piled out of the bed. Andy found a spot under Spencer’s arm, keeping him off his foot.  
“You’ll have to guide me,” Spencer mumbled, “I can’t really see shit,”  
“We’ll fix it,” Patrick promised, “If it can be fixed, Snoop can do it.”  
“I won’t hold my breath, but thanks.” Spencer smiled, and Pete wondered just what had happened to the lot of them. Four of them didn’t even look old enough to be out of the caravan, let alone in a place like Linda Vista.  
Once Patrick had situated himself opposite Brian and Ryan and Brendon had placed themselves along Dallon, their group was off.  
They didn’t start seeing bodies until they’d reached the next floor down. Dallon covered Brendon’s eyes, but it was a little too late.  
The blood made Pete send a glance Patrick’s way, but he had his brave face on, the face that told Pete that he was waiting, until they were safe and alone, to start flipping shit. Until then, and not a second sooner, he’d fucking deal with it.  
It made Pete’s heart hurt, that Patrick had probably had that face on for too many days.  
They met up with the rest of group one on the last floor, where Shakira and the girls were converging as well, bloody and singed and smug.  
“Doctor Death Adder?” Pete asked, as soon as he saw them. Shakira shook her head.  
“She’s gone, Pete. I looked the whole building over, from basement to roof.”  
“She would have been one of the first to leave,” Rihanna mentioned, “When they realized an attack was happening.”  
Pete tried to snuff out his disappointment.  
“I have to go to the basement,” Elton mentioned, “You kids go on ahead, I’ll find my way out.”  
“We’re going to bomb the place,” Travie warned, “How long will you take?”  
“Maybe ten minutes?” Elton offered, “It’s just a few files. I figure, if we’re going to destroy the building, maybe the files they keep in the basement can help us.”  
“Good call,” Pete nodded, “You go. Ten minutes, okay?"  
"Ten minutes." Elton smiled. "Glad you’re safe, Stump,"  
"Me, too." Patrick laughed, as relieved as when Pete had first held him again.  
Elton tipped his imaginary hat and disappeared back through the doors leading from the lobby.  
"Everyone out," Pete ordered, "We're blowing this place sky high in T-minus ten minutes!"  
He watched Shakira's people, and then Patrick and his friends, followed by team one, all walk through the door - catching sight of the way Bob's feet nearly stopped for just a second before he walked out with Brian and Patrick's support.  
Pete led the rear, feeling torn. On one hand, he'd not found out anything about Sandman or himself. He'd lost Death Adder, and he wouldn't be finding her again any time soon.  
On the other hand.  
Patrick, after carefully letting Suarez take his place and exchanging tearful hugs with Joe and Vicky-T, found Pete and took his hand. The Patrick in Pete's head reappeared, making Sandman abandon his attempts to shut the door and instead face him head on. Sandman's defiance only made his maniacal smile grow.  
"Can we go home?"  
Pete looked over at Shakira.  
"Can you guys handle this?"  
"To the ground," she smiled, "You don't want to watch? This was your world, for a while."  
"It was home," Pete squeezed Patrick's hand, "Now, it's a prison. I don't need to see it burn to know it’s hell. Bill’s team should have gone in once you gave the all clear. Did they?"  
“A few minutes ago,” She confirmed, “You would have passed them, unless they took a different route through the lobby,”  
“Radio him in five. Tell him to take what he can get, then get the hell out. Once Elton’s out, take it out.”  
She nodded, and he turned back to his people.  
"Time to go! Team two will be staying to tear it down, teams one and three are headed home!"  
Pete didn't let go of Patrick the whole way.  
They didn't go under until well passed the six mile mark, when Pete knew that it would be safe and, without a doubt, secure.  
They reached the opening to the tunnel they'd be using, and that was where the snag happened.  
"I don't want to go under the ground," Brendon shook his head, "I don't want to leave the sun again,"  
"C'mon, Bden," Spencer reached out blindly and found Brendon's arm, "Once we're down there, we're safe. Right, Patrick?"  
"Right," Patrick agreed, "Just a ladder and you're home, Bren."  
"I don't want to," Brendon shook his head again, "Bob,"  
Bob, until Brendon had said his name, had been slumped between Brian and Suarez and as close to dead weight as Pete had ever seen a living body. For a while now, Pete had believed that Bob might have been too late to save. But, apparently, all it took to revive him was one of his cell mates calling his name.  
He stood tall, no longer needing Brian and Suarez to help him. When Pete looked at him now, he was a brick wall, ready to ram the full power of his broad shoulders and cold stare into whatever was in his way. He was powerful, in a way that had been hidden by his slump.  
"Brendon," he said, and Brendon went to him. When they tried to get everyone through the hole again, Brendon went quietly, as long as he was under Bob's arm as soon as he was down the ladder.  
Pete watched Bob, because now that he was standing tall, it was obvious that he was the one in charge. Brian and the kids followed him with total faith. What had Patrick said?  
Bob, and Ravenous, had protected him.  
Bob was their protector, Pete realized.  
He must have been hurting so bad inside, because every step left a few drops of blood behind him and Pete could make out fresh blood staining his clothes, but he didn't even look bothered. Brendon had relaxed the moment he was next to him, and hadn't uttered a peep of discontent since.  
Bob kept a careful eye on all of them, even Patrick, and if Sandman hadn't been worried about the smiling Patrick in their doorway, it would have pissed him off.  
It was a long trip, slow for their injured new friends, but they did eventually make it back.  
"Get Snoop," Pete said to the first soldier he saw, raising his voice to be heard, "And find Big Sean."  
It was a fast swirl after that. Snoop sent stretchers and the younger ones - The Kids, Patrick called them as a collective - were forced onto them and mainstreamed to medical. Brian and Bob preferred to walk, and the moment they were out of sight, Bob nearly collapsed right then and there.  
"Bob!" Patrick rushed to help Brian lift him back onto his legs. His knees buckled before he caught then, but he was eventually able to strain himself into an upright position.  
"Sorry." He mumbled.  
"Shut up," Brian scoffed, brushing sweaty blond hair off his sweat-wet forehead, "You pushed yourself."  
"I’m a walking cadaver," Bob shrugged and then winced, "Breathing is pushing myself, right now."  
"You can rest in my room." Patrick said firmly, changing the direction of the group, "No arguing, okay? You're safe now, you don't have to be strong anymore."  
"Listen to Patrick." Brian held Bob's hand and kissed his fingers, "Please."  
Bob nodded and let Patrick and Brian support him again.  
Pete, walking silently, tried not to stare at the empty doorway where the Patrick in his head no longer was.  
Andy nudged him, frowning, and Pete shook his head.  
They'd talk later. Pete had a feeling that Andy had been right. Something was very, very wrong.  
Something in Patrick, like Sandman. Pete didn't want to imagine what that meant. but he felt like it was the answer to whatever riddle Patrick had posed to Sandman from the very beginning. Maybe, at the end of this adventure, Sandman would get his answers, after all.  
As they walked, the group dispersed. Pete sent Travie and his team off to contact Shakira and check in on the building, and Gabe couldn't get away from Patrick fast enough so the Cobras scattered almost before Pete had given the order to call Beyoncé. It left Pete, Joe and Andy alone with Patrick and his friends.  
Even with Patrick nearly ten feet away from him, Sandman was telling him that, if he wanted his friends to live, he needed to tell them to fuck off.  
They reached Patrick's door with no trouble, though. Patrick had long been stripped of his communicator, so Pete unlocked it for him. Nothing had been touched, except for the bed from when Pete had passed out for an hour and a half before Sandman roused him up. “We should get Greta," Pete started, looking over the frankly nauseating wounds visible via bloodstains on Bob's white clothes.  
"He'll be okay," Brian shook his head, "He doesn't like doctors, and...Patrick said you have one, too."  
"One, too?" Pete asked, unsure of what Brian meant.  
Brian lifted Bob's wrist and turned the hospital bracelet on it until Pete could read it.  
"Project Suiteheart..." Pete read, feeling his heart thump.  
"Isn't that..." Andy didn’t continue. He already knew.  
Pete felt like throwing up. He gently pulled Patrick's wrist up and turned his bracelet. Patrick wouldn’t look at him.  
"You were both successes."  
"Bob's AI is named Ravenous," Patrick told him, suddenly distant. Pete carefully laced their fingers together and Patrick looked at him, surprised.  
If Patrick really did have something in him like Pete did, they'd work it out together.  
As for Bob...  
"Is he controllable?" Pete asked Bob, careful. He'd killed indiscriminately as a child, to the point that he was locked up at night until around the age of ten, when he was able to convince Sandman to calm the fuck down.  
"Yes," Bob nodded, "He's fine. He won't do anything, unless Benzedrine tells him to."  
"And who is Benzedrine?"  
Patrick squeezed his hand and that answered his question.  
"You rest," Pete said gently, deciding to overlook the questions in his head for the moment, "Both of you. You've been through fucking hell, and I know that too well. Your kids will be fine, I'll send Greta to you in a few hours with an update and if you need anyone, just press this button."  
He pulled his radio out of his pocket, "That's a direct link to my top generals. You need anything at all, food or help or medical attention, you call them and tell them I said they were yours for the night, okay?"  
“Thank you,” Brian smiled, slow and careful. It made his face loosen, look less severe.  
“Come on, Patrick,” Pete tugged his hand a little, “I want to talk to you. We need to...to figure this out.”  
Patrick nodded and followed the three of them out, letting Pete lead him along.  
“We’re going to my room,” Pete nodded at Andy and Joe, “We’ll see you later.”  
“We’re going to hang out, after I wake up.” Patrick promised Joe, yawning, “I’m going to sleep forever.”  
“Sleep all you need, man,” Joe grinned, “We’re all just glad you’re home.”  
“I’ll be in the war room,” Andy told them, beginning to type on his communicator, probably setting up a meeting with Big Sean, “Come find me if you need me.”  
“I will,” Pete nodded, “Thanks, Andy.”  
Joe headed towards mess and Andy followed them to the hallway, disappearing into the already full war room while Pete continued on to his room with Patrick close to him.  
They went through his office and Pete didn’t look at the overturned desk he hadn’t bothered to pick up.  
“Who trashed your office?” Patrick frowned, pausing in the room to look the splayed papers and broken glass against the wall.  
“Let’s just say I didn’t handle being told you’d been kidnapped well.” Pete admitted. “I’ll clean it up, later.”  
“Later,” Patrick nodded, smiling a little. “I wasn’t hurt, Pete.”  
“Maybe not like the others were,” Pete pushed his bedroom door open and waited for Patrick to walk in. While Patrick moved deeper into the room, Pete turned his back to him and closed his door. “I want to talk about Project Suiteheart, though. If that’s okay.”  
“That’s fine with me, sweetheart.” Patrick agreed. Pete felt a shudder go through him. Patrick’s voice had changed, gone higher, aggressive, and he’d never called him that before. Pete suddenly felt like he was in danger. Slowly, with deliberate movements, he turned around and pressed his back against the door.  
Patrick smiled at him, the grin curling his lips up painfully. His eyes were _gold_. Not the kind of gold that they sometimes reached when his blue eyes reflected something just right, but literal _gold_.  
“Benzedrine,” Pete realized.  
“Smart,” Benzedrine purred, taking a step towards him, “I like that. I see why he likes you. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, sweetheart? Going by _Sandman_ now?"  
 _He knows me,_ Sandman rushed forward and they were suddenly sharing their body, Pete and Sandman both present.  
"How do you know me?" Sandman demanded, "You're like me, right? Who is Ravenous, who are you, who -"  
"Shh," Benzedrine laughed, sounding a little too crazy for Pete's comfort, "You're so sad now, Sandman. A few years of torture and you lose everything that happened? You don't remember me at all, do you?" He asked, voice going soft in amazement and what could possibly have been anger.  
"Tell me," Sandman demanded, taking a menacing step forward.  
Benzedrine was suddenly on them, pressing their body against the door with Patrick's and pinning their hands beside their head. Even an inch shorter than them, he didn't have any trouble leaning up on his toes to meet their eyes head on.  
"You obviously don't. Then again, you were never all that respectful. I'd hoped, after so long...but we'll be spending so much time together now. You'll figure it out."  
Sandman shoved Benzedrine off him, using their full strength, and Benzedrine was forced back.  
"I couldn't do that before," he snapped, "But I can now, asshole. You won't control me. Not again."  
 _Again?_ Pete paused.  
 _I don't know...what I'm talking about._ Sandman shook his head.  
"So you do remember...Or, at least, somewhere in there." Benzedrine licked his lips, eyes predatory, a pleased look taking over the near disappointment of before, "And you overpower me, physically. Come here, sweetheart. I'll help you remember."  
Pete didn't think it was a good idea.  
"Where's Patrick?" Pete asked, keeping his hand firmly on the door handle, in case Sandman's half decided to go for it.  
"Come here," Benzedrine repeated, "And you'll find out."  
Hesitantly, they stepped forward. Benzedrine cupped their face, splayed his fingers in a possessive touch, and pressed his thumbs gently against their eyes.  
In their shared space, Benzedrine stepped through the door, the lipstick in the middle of his lips blood red and eye catching as the blush on his cheeks.  
"And to think I just left this place," he commented, spinning around to take a look at the room. "It's so like you, Sandman, to trap yourself in a place like this after just a fraction of time spent in duress."  
"Fuck you," Sandman snapped, "Tell me what I want to know."  
"First, let me take a look at what you've been up to." Benzedrine turned back to the door and tried to push his arm through. He bounced off of the black space like it was a mirror.  
"What are you doing?" He smiled, looking over his shoulder at Sandman. It was a dangerous smile, much different from even the one before.  
"Nothing," Sandman shook his head, "Try again."  
Benzedrine did and his smile grew.  
"It's not _working,_ Sandman."  
He slid his eyes to Pete.  
"Not Sandman," he laughed, "It's you."  
"Where's Patrick," Pete demanded, "No one is leaving until I see him."  
"Maybe he's dead," Benzedrine was suddenly advancing on him, the grin on his face never leaving, "Let me out, sweetheart. Let me out, or you're going to see what a bad idea it is to cage yourself in with the likes of me."  
Sandman pushed Pete back and met Benzedrine head on, "Or maybe you'll see. Where is Patrick?"  
Benzedrine looked at Sandman, evaluating him, and then laughed, backing down.  
"At least Adder didn't cut off your balls. You've been a thorn in my side too long to let a few days of pain take that away. I'll break you down, though, sweetheart. I'll take you to Patrick."  
This time, when he left, he actually went through the door. The darkness was a hallway now, the same one Pete had run down only a few hours earlier, and he stopped before he could leave the room. He'd never left it before.  
Sandman didn't move, either.  
"Are you telling that, this whole time, we've been locked in this room because you wouldn't let us out?"  
"I have no idea," Pete shrugged, "Maybe. Maybe not. We don't exactly have a normal experience, Sandman."  
"We're losing him," Sandman changed the subject, watching Benzedrine's yellow-clad back going farther down the white of the hallway.  
"Then we should follow him," Pete lifted his foot but couldn't bring himself to go through the door. Sandman shoved him and he stumbled, fell through the doorway and landed on white tile. Sandman followed him, dragged him up, and started walking.  
Benzedrine led them to the back rooms. Pete's pulse had started racing the moment he'd left the room, but the blood rushing in his ears was near deafening by the time he reached the double doors leading to the back rooms. In the fifteen years since Pete had seen them, he'd managed to block out quite a bit of what had happened to them in these rooms, but being in front of them made him feel like all those memories were trying to push back.  
"He's in here," Benzedrine leaned against the wall, "Please, come in."  
Sandman pushed the door in and walked through them like he owned the place. Pete followed meekly, his fingertips tingling.  
"It's okay, sweetheart," Benzedrine slung an arm low on Pete's hips and pressed himself against his back, warm breath and sharp teeth on his shoulder through his hospital gown. It felt like Patrick, physically, but Pete didn't need anything but the way he fit against his back to know it wasn't.  
He tried to struggle away, but Benzedrine didn't let him go, trapped him in the doorway so all he could do was watch as Sandman shoved through the shadows of people Pete could only barely remember to get to the operating table, where Patrick was strapped down and eerily silent.  
Sandman yanked the belts off the table, fully dissecting them from their places and flinging them across the room, and then he was helping Patrick sit up, clinging to him just as hard as he was being clung to.  
Pete wanted to be there with them, wanted to wrap his arms around Patrick in a hard hug and tell him everything would be okay, everything would go back to normal.  
Instead, Benzedrine patted his chest, resting his head on Pete's shoulder.  
"You're a strong one," he commented, "Not like them. I'll give Patrick his dues, it isn’t just any old human compatible with me. I’ll try not to rip him apart from the inside out,"  
"Don't," Pete protested, moving his hands to grab Benzedrine's arm, "Don't fucking touch him,"  
"I didn't choose this," Benzedrine laughed, digging his nails into Pete's side, "I didn't choose to be put inside some fucking kid in the middle of a stupid fucking war I don't care about. Xibalba will pay for what he's done to me, and that is the only reason I'm staying with you, got it?"  
Pete nodded, not understanding anything Benzedrine was saying. He knew Sandman, before he was Sandman, and he - like Sandman - wasn't human. He was an AI and, if what he was saying was true, than Sandman had been right and they probably hadn't been created by Better Living.  
Benzedrine was angry, Pete could tell that just from the force in his words, but he wasn't particularly angry at _them_.  
"Who's Xibalba?" He asked, taking his chance to dig, "You and Sandman, you aren't human and you aren't technological, right?"  
"You're right," Benzedrine nodded, "But can you guess what we are?"  
"No," Pets admitted, "I can't."  
"Best not to try, then," Benzedrine smiled, "Leave the questioning up to Sandman. He's coming back with your beau,"  
Pete looked away from Benzedrine and that seemed to be what he's been waiting for. The second he looked at Sandman and Patrick, looks of horror on their faces, Benzedrine sunk his teeth into Pete's neck and yanked.  
Pete had enough time to realize that Benzedrine had just killed him before he was meeting the black he hadn't seen since he was five.  
-  
"Pete," someone was shouting. They were crying, wretched sobs Pete didn't like to hear coming from their voice, and he wanted to make them stop.  
"Wake up," another voice demanded. Pete didn't doubt for a second that it was Andy. That was the voice he used when Pete was in danger, when he's fucked up.  
"Please," the other voice cried, devastated.  
Pete opened his eyes and saw Sandman sitting on his bed, head in his hands. His shoulders shook, blood coating his fingers, oozing from different wounds. Pete had never seen him like that before.  
 _Sandman_ , he set up slowly, _what..._  
 _Pete!_ Sandman lifted his head from his hands, black eyes rimmed red. He crossed the room and pressed his fingers against Pete's neck, like he was searching for the wound Pete remembered having. He found it and Pete flinched, but didn't try to get away.  
 _I thought I was dead_ , he admitted, _That we were..._  
 _He can't kill me_. Sandman shook his head, _He tried but he can't._  
 _Who's crying_? Pete asked, frowning up at the ceiling.  
 _Patrick_ , Sandman pressed his head to Pete's shoulder, _Andy came to talk to us, he and Benzedrine are fighting now._  
 _What_? Pete blinked hard, but he was still in the room _We have to go help him! Why can't I wake up?_!  
 _Because you almost died._ Sandman mumbled. _Because he ripped your throat out here and tried to do the same thing out there. Patrick fought him off you, and then Andy showed up. You were still hurt._  
 _Sandman, wake up,_ Pete hugged him, hands flat on his shoulder, _You have to wake up before he kills Andy._  
 _I don't want to leave you alone. What if Patrick touches you and Benzedrine comes back?_  
 ** _Please_** _,_ Pete begged, _Please don't let him hurt Andy. You might not love him like you love Patrick, but you know how much I do. Help him for me!_  
Sandman made an angry, frustrated noise, but he did _it, opened his eyes and pressed a hand to the sluggishly bleeding bite mark on his throat._  
 _Andy and Benzedrine were still going at it, Andy bleeding much more heavily but not nearly as bad off as Pete had feared. He set up, eyes on Benzedrine. He couldn't remember a fucking thing about him, but the irritation and fury that piece of shit caused in him was so instinctive that Sandman couldn't doubt for a second that he had known him before...before Pete. He didn't want to kill Benzedrine, not his usual murderous instinct when he came into contact with something that irritated him, but he wanted to hurt him. He wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face and make him scream in anger, because he couldn't do shit to Sandman anymore. It was such a difference in how he usually felt towards Patrick that it almost made Sandman pause._  
 _Andy, marginally faster than Benzedrine, ducked behind him and rammed Benzedrine against the wall. Using the wall as momentum, Benzedrine shoved himself off of it and slammed into Andy hard enough to knock them both down. He swung his arm back to deck Andy across the face but Sandman took his chance at his open side and tackled Benzedrine to the ground, pinned his hands above his head and tried to control himself. He'd dreamed of doing this to Patrick for months, of holding him down and taking him with his sweet voice keening his enthusiasm._  
 _Instead, Andy was gasping for breath against the wall, holding his side to stop the bleeding from the scar Benzedrine had ripped open, and Benzedrine was twisting uselessly under him, howling._  
 _Sandman ignored the impulse to let him go, because he couldn't hurt Patrick if the kid has a knife to his throat. This wasn't Patrick._  
 _"_ I'm calling Gabe and Travie, _" Andy grunted, "_ We'll hold him in a cell. Forget Bob, it's **Patrick** who can't control the AI. _"_  
 _Sandman couldn't argue._  
 _"_ Come on, Sandman _," Benzedrine purred, "_ Let me up. We could kill him together, like old times. I'll tell you everything you want to know. About you, about me, about **us** _."_  
 _"You tried to kill me," Sandman snapped, "That made it pretty clear what **we** were,"_  
 _"_ It wasn't you I wanted dead, _" Benzedrine stopped struggling, laid still and innocent. Patrick's face was open, smiling and as pretty as ever. Sandman almost let his grip go lax. "_ I was freeing you, Sweetheart. _"_  
 _"What the fuck are you talking about?" Sandman growled, leaning forward onto Benzedrine's arms to keep him down._  
 _"_ I was getting rid of the human, Sandman _," Benzedrine spelled out for him, "_ I was freeing you. And then I can kill the worm in this body, and we can be together again. _"_  
 _"Together again - you were trying to kill Pete!?" Sandman felt an anger in him well up, the need to rip Benzedrine apart, to destroy him and keep Pete safe and free Patrick -_  
 _"_ Patrick _?" Benzedrine lost the smile, the soothing canter in his voice - howling Patrick's name like a curse, "_ You're worried about **Patrick**!? I've lost you for thousands of years and Patrick is who you're worried about!? _"_  
 _Benzedrine hurled Sandman off of him, reversing their positions and slamming Sandman into the stone floor._  
 _"_ Those humans mean more to you than discovering who you are, Sandman? _" He seethed, nails digging deep into the skin. It must have been painful to him, as well, but he didn't even seem to notice, "_ This human is the one you worry about? I've chased you through centuries, waiting for the day Xibalba rises again, waiting for the day when I could find you and make you regret running away from me, and you fear for this human more than you fear me!? _"_  
 _He let go of Sandman's wrists and raked his nails across Sandman's face, cutting gashes into his cheek, "_ I'll tear him apart for touching you, do you hear me!? I'll ruin him and I'll ruin that pathetic fuck in you, I'll destroy this whole motherfucking base and then we'll see who you should fear, Sandman! _"_  
 _Sandman shoved Benzedrine off and rolled onto his feet._  
 _Waiting for Xibalba to rise?_  
 _"What do you mean, I ran away?" He asked, feeling his head reeling. Pete pushed but Sandman didn't let him through. Benzedrine wasn't anywhere near done fighting and Andy was still gone to find Gabe and Travie, his radio shattered nearby._  
 _"_ You'll regret running away _," Benzedrine hissed, "_ I won't give you the freedom to leave me again, Sandman. I allowed it before, because you liked the humans and I wanted you to be happy, but it won't happen again. I'm going to chain you to my side, Sandman, and never let you go, again, _"_  
 _"I don't understand!" Sandman snarled, "I don't remember you! I don't remember Xibalba or what the fuck happened thousands of years ago! I don't even know what I am, let alone how old I am or who I was or who you are!"_  
 _He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. He’d never felt so out of control, that was usually Pete’s department, and it was throwing him the fuck off._  
 _Benzedrine, as fast as he's lost control, regained it. He took a step away, lifted his hands in a sign of surrender and grinned._  
 _"_ I take it back _," he demurred, "_ I won't hurt him, your dear Patrick. I won't even hurt your Pete-human. I'll be good, Sandman. _"_  
 _"What the fuck is wrong with you," Sandman took a step back, too, until he hit the wall. His neck was still warm with the blood from the bite mark._  
 _"_ I’m going to take you, _" Benzedrine told him, "_ But only when you remember. There's no point in punishing you until you remember what you did _."_  
 _"You're fucking insane," Sandman found the door handle behind him, "How can I remember something that was taken from me?"_  
 _"_ When you want to remember _," Benzedrine promised, "_ I'll tell you. I'm tired, now, so I think I'll...sleep. Patrick can come back, now. _"_  
 _Sandman lurched forward when Patrick's body went limp, catching him before be brained himself on the floor, and slowly lowered them both to the ground._  
 _Patrick opened his eyes slowly, blue dark in the room, and promptly began to gag. He hadn't eaten in days, Sandman knew, so nothing came up but acid._  
 _"_ Sandman _," Patrick gripped his hand, his arm, his shoulder, fingers coming away red. His breathing started to go crazy, his chest heaving, face going hot and red. "_ Sandman _,"_  
 _"Patrick," Sandman soothed, taking Patrick's hands and pressing them to his cheeks, "It's okay. Listen to me. We're both okay."_  
 _"_ Andy _," Patrick started but Sandman shook his head, "_ I - Benzedrine, he hurt you, he killed Pete, oh God, Pete - _"_  
 _Patrick started to sob hysterically, shaking too hard to hold. His eyes, far away, sent Pete shoving forward and Sandman receded, left Pete to take over and_ make Patrick feel better.  
"'Trick, baby, it's okay," Pete kissed Patrick's bloody palm, ignored that they were both smeared with his blood, and that his head was aching with lightheadedness. "I'm okay, he didn't kill me. He tried, but he couldn't do it."  
"I'm sorry!" Patrick threw his arms around Pete and hugged him, "I'm so sorry, I couldn't stop him, I couldn't -"  
"I know," Pete hugged him back, squeezed him hard, "I know, Lunchbox. No one blames you. I don't blame you. I love you, okay? With or without Benzedrine. No AI is gonna change that."  
"He wants Sandman so much," Patrick choked, "He's crazy, Pete, he wants to _own_ you, he -"  
"Shh," Pete rubbed at Patrick's eye with his thumb, wiping the tears away, "It’s okay. I know. Let's go get cleaned up, okay?"  
"Just a minute," Patrick mumbled, pressing his face to Pete's shoulder, "Just give me a minute, okay? I was so scared you were gone. I was so fucking scared, you asshole,"  
"It won't happen again," Pete promised, resting his head on Patrick's.  
"I'll kill him," Patrick mumbled, "I won't let him hurt you again."  
"Fuck him," Pete swore, "He won't take us away from you. Either of us."  
"I won't let him," Patrick clutched at Pete's shirt, "He caught me off guard this time, but it won't happen again. I'm going to learn to hold him back."  
"I'll help you," Pete nodded, "We'll be okay."  
They clung to each other until Andy burst back through the door, Travie and Gabe and a story about Ravenous nearly wrecking the door trying to get to Benzedrine following him.  
"I'm going to go clean up, then check on Bob and Brian." Patrick said, before Pete could offer to check on them for him. "Travie, can you come with me? I want someone there in case I..."  
"Of course, man." Travie nodded, looking at Pete. Pete nodded and Travie helped Patrick up and towards the door.  
"I'll see you soon, Pete," Patrick frowned, staring at the floor, "You can show me how to help myself."  
Pete nodded, and watched them leave.  
"You can't be alone with him, anymore." Andy said, the moment they were gone, "That was too close, Pete."  
"I think we're okay," Pete told him, still holding Sandman to him, letting him listen to Pete’s heartbeat while running his fingers through the blackness of Sandman's hair, "He wants to punish Sandman, but he can't until Sandman remembers who he was."  
"They're robots," Andy hissed, "What does he mean, until he remembers!?"  
"I don't think they are," Pete admitted, "They're something, I'll give you that, but I don't think they're robots."  
"If they aren't technological, what the hell are they?" Gabe frowned, "They can't be biological."  
"I don't know, Gabe." Pete shrugged, winced, and let Andy pull him up. His knees shook a little so he leaned against Andy's shoulder and let him take some if his weight, "But I do know that whatever the fuck they are, it's really fucking complicated."  
"We'll figure it out later," Andy decided, arm going around Pete's waist to better support him. "For now, I want eyes on Patrick twenty four-seven. He goes nowhere without someone tailing him."  
Gabe nodded, looking nervous, and Pete let Andy lead him off towards the bathroom. His bedroom was bloody but Gabe would clean it up while he and Andy were cleaning him up and wrapping his neck wound, and then Pete would sleep for a long, long time.  
"We'll meet our new friends, tomorrow," he mumbled, once Andy had helped him clean up and bandage himself and he's found his way to his bed. Like he’d hoped, Gabe had given the room a thorough wipe down and it was relatively blood free when he’d settled down to rest.  
"If you're awake," Andy gave. "I've got some bad news,"  
"Hit me," Pete rubbed his face, vision hazy with the pain meds Andy had shoved down his throat.  
"Elton's dead," Andy hit him.  
"What?" Pete demanded, trying to sit up, "What do you mean he's dead!?"  
Andy pushed him back down, shaking his head.  
"He radioed Shakira about five minutes after we left. There was a cove, hidden, in the basement, and he was taken. He told her to blow the building, because the Dracs were coming, and Bill’s team was already out so she made the call."  
"Does Gabe know," Pete didn't try to sit up again. "Has anyone told him?"  
"I did." Andy said quietly, "We'll hold a memorial for him tomorrow."  
"Shit," Pete mumbled, rubbing his eyes, "Any other losses?"  
"He was our only casualty. For a plan that involved storming a place like Linda Vista, one casualty isn't terrible."  
"It felt so easy, though..." Pete said quietly, "What if it was supposed to be like that, Andy? What if we were supposed to rescue Patrick and the others?"  
"We'll worry about it tomorrow." Andy gentled the hair off his forehead, "Just rest."  
Pete, tired and in pain and sad, fell into an uneasy sleep.  
-  
"Pete," Patrick whispered, lightly shaking his arm, "Pete,"  
"'Trick?" Pete grunted, cracking his eyes open, "Hm?"  
"Can I sleep with you?" Patrick asked, voice small.  
Pete patted the spot next to him limply and snuggling in close when Patrick slid under the blanket. Patrick was warm and sleep soft, and having him next to Pete after so long and so much fear and worry made something in Pete unwind. Patrick tensed and then went totally lax, pressing a kiss to Pete's shoulder.  
"I love you, too, you know," he said softly, voice barely a whisper. Pete hummed happily, because he'd known that but it was still nice to hear.  
"Goodnight, Pete," Patrick yawned, sleepy and soft. Pete nuzzled his face into Patrick's shoulder and went back to sleep, Benzedrine's _Goodnight, sweetheart_ barely registering.  
-  
Pete woke up feeling calm. He was warm, his neck barely hurt, and he had Patrick's soft skin under his fingers, sleep-hot and safe.  
"You're awake," Patrick said quietly, chest rumbling with his words. Ear to heartbeat as they were, Pete took a few seconds to just appreciate the steady drumming under his head before he answered.  
"So are you,"  
"Is your neck okay?"  
"It doesn't hurt too much," Pete answered, "I think Sandman is numbing it. I'm comfortable."  
"I missed you," Patrick threw out, fingers twining in Pete's hair, "I thought about you every day we were apart."  
"I fucking lost it," Pete admitted, "Went off on Gabe and Travie, tried to march through the city on a crusade for you, the whole sha-bang."  
"It wasn't their fault," Patrick protested, "I told them to leave me."  
"I know," Pete bit his lip and looked up, finding Patrick's face and just taking in the fact that Patrick was next to him. "I apologized. I think Gabe thinks you're angry with him."  
"I'll talk to him today," Patrick smiled, leaning down to kiss him. It was soft, warm and safe in their cocoon of red, here in Pete's room.  
"How'd you get passed Andy?" Pete asked, once they'd settled back into the sheets, "He was pretty adamant that we stay separated."  
"Joe distracted him at the office door and I snuck in through the war room." Patrick shook a little with laughter and Pete couldn't help but laugh, too. Once Andy found out, there would be hell to pay but, for now, they were safe.  
Patrick fluttered his fingers over the bandage in Pete's neck and his breathing hitched.  
"He wants to consume Sandman," He mumbled after a few minutes of silent. Pete felt the ease of the last little while slide away and readied himself for business.  
"Did he tell you why?"  
"He says Sandman belongs to him. It's like...like a twisted, dark version of how Sandman told me he protected me. Benzedrine thinks Sandman ran away from him, whatever that means, and now he's going to capture him and take him so that he can't ever leave again."  
"He can't," Pete shook his head, voice firm and decisive, "Sandman is his own being. Benzedrine can't have him."  
"That's what I told him," Patrick let out a soft breath, "Then he strapped me down to a table and left me alone with shadow doctors. I could hear Death Adder's voice, but I just..."  
"It's okay," Pete promised, "Let's just get rid of that bracelet, okay? It's over now."  
"I want to burn it," Patrick started, and then went still.  
"Pattycakes?" Pete frowned, lifted his head to look at him again.  
"He wants to talk to you," Patrick said quietly, his eyes beginning to flash between the dark of his irises in the red room and gold.  
"Okay," Pete set up and turned to look at Patrick, who moved so his back was against the wall. Sluggishly, the gold overtook him, and his lips twisted into a painful smile.  
"Benzedrine."  
"Pete-human," Benzedrine purred, looking him over with appreciation, "I see you are recovered."  
"No thanks to you," Pete frowned, "You know killing me would probably kill Sandman, too. We can't inhabit this body without each other, we've been together too long."  
"I was overcome," Benzedrine admitted, oozing a slimy sort of apology, "Seeing the likes of you with my rival, it irked me to see him in such a prison. Having spoke to Ravenous, I have understood that - at this time - we would not survive in our hosts without a partner soul."  
"Soul..." Pete tasted the word, and Benzedrine suddenly looked a bit excited.  
"Closer to the puzzle, are you? Sandman will get there. In time, I suppose."  
"Leave Sandman alone," Pete bit out, "You can't have him, so just back off."  
"If only I could," Benzedrine sighed, "But, as it stands, you have something of mine and I have something of yours."  
He lifted his hand and began to tap his cheek, as if thinking, "And however will we solve this conundrum?"  
"What do you want?" Pete demanded, "You have all the cards here, Benzedrine."  
"I have most of them," Benzedrine agreed, leaning forward, "But you have the only card I want."  
"I can't just give you half of who I am!" Pete narrowed his eyes, "And I wouldn't if I could."  
"Ballsy," Benzedrine laughed, his eyes bright with amusement. It was dangerous and Pete felt suddenly like a mouse that a little too close to a cat's claws.  
"Listen to me, sweetheart, because I'm gonna say it once. I killed a lot of my own to reach this poor fuck, because he was close to Sandman. I will get what I want, because I sacrificed _my_ soldiers to get to him. My soldiers don't come second to many, Pete-human, but Sandman is one of them."  
"Patrick says you want to own him," Pete stared at the bedsheets, fingers trailing over the soft of them as he thought, "I swear, Sandman doesn't remember you. Threatening Patrick, hurting me, it isn’t doing anything to help your cause."  
"My cause?" Benzedrine laughed again, "You think I'm crusading for his attention? No, Pete-human. I'm going to tear him down until he's mine, just like he was before he ran."  
"You're a monster," Pete looked up, "And even if you do manage to work around the fact that you can't survive without Patrick and I, even if you work around the fact that whoever the fuck Xibalba is, he isn't in charge anymore, and even though Sandman would rather die than become subservient to anyone - especially the likes of you - you could never keep him. He would run away again, and then again, and then again, until you killed him. You couldn't chain him up whenever the hell you had him and you can't chain him up now and you'll never be able to chain him up!"  
He was yelling by the time he was finished, red faced and angry, and it was probably only the endorphins rushing through him from it that stopped the sting of the slap across his face from hurting even more. His head snapped to the side and he clenched his eyes, ready for the next hit. When another didn’t come, he opened them to see Benzedrine’s face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.  
“Benzedrine,” Pete didn’t think, reached out and wrapped his arm around Benzedrine’s familiarly small shoulders, fueled by - of all things - _Sandman_ not wanting to see Benzedrine so...upset. He pulled him to his chest and rubbed his skin soothingly. Even if it was Benzedrine fronting, Pete couldn’t stand to see Patrick’s body so defeated.  
Benzedrine didn’t try to pull away, or shove him off, and Pete took that to mean that he wasn’t overstepping bounds. Benzedrine hated him, Pete could see that clearly, but the thought that Pete had hurt Patrick - any part of him, like how Sandman was a part of Pete, - was unbearable.  
Pete felt Benzedrine go still under his touch after only a few moments longer, and he reluctantly drew away before he was killed for real.  
Benzedrine lifted his head from his hands and stared at Pete, eyes dry but something not quite...right about them, either. Whatever Pete had been spewing in his rage, it had struck a nerve.  
“He _will_ be mine, again. If I have to kill him, so be it.”  
“You don’t have to force him,” Pete let out a loud gust of air, “You’re so fucking - do you understand who you’re inhabiting? AIs’ aren’t removable. You and Patrick are in that body now. In case you haven’t noticed, Patrick and I - we have a thing, and Sandman is involved with that. You’re a part of Patrick now. You’ve got a foot in the door, if you want to fucking - fucking woo him or some shit! You don’t have to violently murder people to set him free or beat everyone up to express your anger!”  
Benzedrine didn’t answer. He looked Pete over, thoughtful.  
Finally, he smirked. “And you and Patrick, you’d be perfectly fine with that.”  
Pete closed his mouth on the firm agreement that had nearly slipped out. He wouldn’t go rushing into that question without thought.  
“Well,” He pressed a cool hand to his cheek, pulsing with barely there pain, “You protected Patrick while you were in Linda Vista. I know you did. You might have done it for selfish reasons, but you...you said you - that you killed people, to be with Patrick. So you could reach Sandman. You kept him safe, kept the people he’d come to care about safe. You might not give a shit about humans, but you sounded like you cared about your people. Your soldiers. I have to believe that Patrick and I can make you care more about humans - like Sandman does. He doesn’t care about people like I do, but he, at least, knows who he can’t kill. Do you distinguish between us?”  
“No,” Benzedrine licked his lips, “I don’t.”  
“You’re going to have to.” Pete decided, “Now. You can’t kill people in my faction. Ideally, you’d only kill people working for Better Living. But if you touch someone in my faction, there will be consequences. I don’t know what they’ll be but you _will_ regret it.”  
A grin reappeared on Benzedrine’s face, but he let Pete continue.  
“And, to tell you the truth, you’re a fucking monster and I don’t see how I could ever love you. How Patrick loves Sandman, after all the shit Sandman had done, shit that I can’t even think about, is beyond me. But Sandman? He could. You don’t chain people to your side, Benzedrine, you ask them to stay and they do - if they _love you_. Fear won’t get you anywhere, not with someone like Sandman.”  
“You want me to court him,” Benzedrine realized, laughing a little, “You want me to romance what already belongs to me,”  
“What used to belong to you,” Pete interrupted, “Whatever Sandman used to be, he isn’t anymore. Deal with it and make accommodations, if you’re that interested. If not, you can threaten and hurt and fight us all you want, but you will lose. Patrick will beat you, because he’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You won’t stand a chance, if you try to hurt the people he cares about.”  
“And you’d bet on your precious Patrick? Against me, who has killed you with nothing but my teeth?”  
“I’m still alive,” Pete shrugged, “And that’s because Patrick fought you off until help arrived. He’ll only get stronger, Benzedrine, and then you’re fucked. Take the path of least resistance and just fucking roll with it.”  
“Roll with it,” Benzedrine shifted onto his knees, moving slowly until he’d begun to loom over Pete, “Just roll with it.”  
“Just roll with it,” Pete nodded, electricity shooting up his spine. He was back to feeling like a mouse, back to feeling like Benzedrine was playing with him, letting him run even while he had a hold of Pete’s tail.  
Benzedrine pressed Patrick’s fingers against Pete’s cheek and Pete felt his chest constrict. His eyes fluttered under the gentle touch and he tried to make his breathing even. He couldn’t get his chest to work though, and he only made it worse. Benzedrine leaned up and in, slating their mouths together in a kiss that managed to be both soft and totally consuming. It felt like Benzedrine was everywhere, surrounding him physically, and making a place for himself in Pete’s head. He stood in the door of their shared room, Sandman blacked off behind a curtain and Pete sitting on his bed in a bloody hospital gown.  
 _Are you coming in?_ Pete asked, feeling unsure and nervous.  
 _I’m going to...accommodate._ Benzedrine smirked, _You aren’t ready to face your demons, Pete-human. Until both of you are ready to remember, I’ll protect this little cell from the memories. Just remember: monster I may be, but at least I’m not lurking in the shadows._  
He closed the door on the room, locking the both of them back into their safe haven and away from the shadow people that had littered the room at the end of the hall and in all the rooms between them.  
Pete broke the kiss, feeling overwhelmed, but Benzedrine pulled him back in and Pete realized that it was less kissing and more a sign of dominance, Benzedrine proving that Pete - Sandman - they were both _his_. Pete didn’t escape until he could barely breathe, lips feeling bruised and sore, and lungs working hard.  
“I’ll protect your little room,” Benzedrine said out loud, kissing Pete’s face in a mockery of Patrick, “And I’ll stay here, until Xibalba rises. But you’re on a time limit, Pete-human. I’d hurry, if I were you. Five more years, and there may not be a world to make perfect for Patrick.”  
“What?” Pete blinked open his eyes, the haze from the intense kisses falling away like a cold shower, “What?”  
Benzedrine’s gold bled out, and Patrick collapsed forward, limp in Pete’s arms.  
“Patrick,” Pete helped him lay down, Patrick a mess of nerveless limbs, and gentled a hand across his sweaty face, “You’re okay, P-Stump.”  
“Pete?” Patrick grumbled, face scrunching up and then relaxing a few times as he worked himself into a state of wakefulness, “What happened? Did I hurt you again?”  
“No,” Pete smiled, helping him sit up slowly, “The opposite. Benzedrine had decided to seduce Sandman instead of killing everyone.”  
“That’s nice,” Patrick got out, tone absent, “So we made out? I definitely feel like I made out with someone.”  
“I feel like _made out_ makes it seem like it was a little less ‘Benzedrine used mouth-to-mouth to get to my head space’ and more ‘romantic meeting of the lips’.”  
“As long as he wasn’t ripping anyone’s lips apart, I’ll take it,” Patrick admitted, rubbing at his head, “I need some fucking head meds.”  
“Got ‘em,” Pete smiled, feeling a little calmer. It hadn’t been fixed, of course, because Benzedrine was fucking...chaos and disaster rolled into the only person in the world that could stop Sandman in his tracks, but progress had been made and Pete could only hope that it would get better as they went along.  
-  
It wasn’t easy. Pete hadn’t expected it to be, but it _really_ hadn’t been easy. Three weeks in, and his council was in such disarray that Pete didn’t even know where to begin. It was like Pete had stepped out of his life and entered some sort of dramatic play filled with double crosses and hidden allegiances.  
Patrick couldn’t pin Gabe down long enough to say _hello_ , let alone long enough to generate a conversation that would lead to mutual forgiveness - because neither Pete, nor Patrick, were stupid enough to think that Gabe hadn’t resented the shit out of Patrick for forcing him to make the choice to leave him behind, whether Gabe admitted it or not. Travie - between helping Gabe take care of all the loose ends a death like Elton John’s left in their web of inner networks and keeping up with his own schedule, was barely around long enough to report to Pete before he was off again. Andy had picked up the slack for Beyoncé, who had been pulled away from the Young Bloods to help settle a dispute that was threatening to rip the Pop Princess faction apart at the seams, so neither of them were around as often as usual. Big Sean had decided to take a more personal investment in their screening of new recruits and, more often than not, he could be found personally interviewing each person being currently trained on rotation. Joe had been placed on Patrick, at first, but that had quickly become irrelevant when it was discovered that Benzedrine wouldn’t let Patrick leave Pete’s side for longer than a few hours. Now, Joe had been assigned to help Andy. Pete had walked into so many screaming matches between them, both stressed and annoyed, in the last few days that he was actually rethinking the assignment. He’d had to cut off the motorbaby port for the time being, because it just wasn’t a safe place for strange kids with Benzedrine running around and the ports were still closed after the Leathermouth Event. Snoop was, as ever, calmest of all despite the full time job of taking care of their eight new arrivals.  
Pete had been informed that, of the six Kids brought in, Spencer was blind as a bat, Jon could barely hear someone screaming in his ear, Brendon’s taste buds were officially numb and his constant cotton mouth was possibly incurable, Brent had a constant nose twitch and a new immunity to aromatherapy, Dallon had lost feeling in the very tips of his extremities, and Ryan had begun to have waking dreams where he was seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, or feeling double. Sometimes all at once. Project Better Sight, Pete had come to understand, had given the six of them an ability that would have otherwise been a great asset to him, had using it not sent a bunch of young people into near-death seizures at the utterance of the word _panic_. While Snoop had assigned himself to The Kids, Greta had been permanently stationed in Patrick’s room, with a nearly comatose Bob. Both of them said that, after the trauma he’d been through, Bob’s weeklong coma hadn’t been surprising to anyone but a panic-stricken Brian. Now, Bob had gotten to the point where he could sit up without immediately passing out. Brian wasn’t leaving his side, unless he was going to visit the kids in the medical wing while Bob slept. Ravenous, on the other hand, liked to roam around and fight whoever bothered to offend or antagonize him. It had reached the point where Sandman and Ravenous had been ready to butt heads until Benzedrine had finally called Ravenous off.  
And, to complete the picture of stress and discontent that Pete had had painted around him, he was no longer sure which eyes he’d wake up to in the morning.  
Patrick had good days and bad days, even after nearly a month of freedom. He’d never be free of the nightmares, Pete knew that from experience, and - even though the relationship Patrick and Benzedrine had was much more resentful and angry than Sandman and Pete’s - Benzedrine always woke up before Patrick on the really bad days, the days that followed nights filled with whimpering and crying in cells built by sleep. Sandman had done the same for Pete for years, until Pete had succeeded in either coming to terms with or forgetting about the traumas.  
Suffice to say, Pete was not having an easy month.  
That was why Gabe announcing that he and Big Sean had come to a joint decision about one Bill Beckett came as a pleasant surprise where it would have once been met with confused scorn.  
“And that is why,” Gabe said firmly, an arm around Bill’s shoulders, “Big Sean and I have decided to bring in Bilvy’s help.”  
“Bill is an engineer,” Pete pointed out, “How, exactly, are you going to help us with security? No offense, but…”  
“Well,” Bill shrugged, looking a little too smug, “I mean, I’m not _just_ an engineer, you know? I’m a pretty good spy, which is what you need. Big Sean is gonna let my crew join your faction, and they’ll spread their webs. Gabe and Big Sean don’t have enough eyes to watch inside and out. That’s where I come in. We’re pacifists, Wentz, but what you’ve got goin’? We like it. We want to be a part of it. You said that was on the table right? When we first signed on to help with the healing pods.”  
“Of course it is,” Pete scoffed, “But are you sure you want to get this involved? You’d be reporting directly to me instead of just Andy.”  
“I want a spot at the lunch table,” Bill bargained, smiling, “But, yeah. We want to join, and I’ll watch our back to give Big Sean and Saporta a little leeway.”  
“Then yes, another set of eyes I can trust sounds fucking great.” Pete reached out and shook Bill’s hand, “For now, I’ll let Big Sean and Gabe have you. They’ll show you the ropes until they both think you’re ready, then I need to you talk to Andy about anything he wants you to know. Keep me updated and I’ll find you guys’ room at the table. Is this going to affect your work with the healing pods?”  
“No,” Bill shook his head, getting that same look in his eye he always got when he got to report on their progress. “We’re making some real headway. I’m hoping to have a working prototype by the end of this month, what with all the materials we salvaged from Linda Vista, and we’ll be testing it on a rat we managed to track down.”  
“A rat?” Pete gaped, “You found an animal within city limits?”  
“I know,” Bill exclaimed, jumping out of his seat, “Isn’t it awesome!? It’s a little starved, obviously, and it must have been in a fight because it’s missing an arm, but I’ve got it caged. It’s gonna live a pretty happy life, however long it lives for. Hopefully, with our prototype, it’ll live a lot longer than it would have.”  
“I’m excited,” Pete grinned, “I never thought you two would get this going so quickly.”  
“If we keep going at this pace,” Bill nodded, sounding dreamy, “We could have a full, working healing pod in two years, man. Just two years, and we could reduce casualties by….a very, very good amount.”  
“I’m leaving the two of you to it,” Pete stood up, “Just remember to report to Andy with any breakthroughs. I’m going to get someone on that rat. If there’s one, there might be more. A meat source would go a long way with keeping us self-sustainable since Eminem and Morris’ gardens are still going strong.”  
“I’ll mark where we found it,” Bill promised, “And I’ll stick with Big Sean and Gabe, but I’m going to go ahead and start sending my crew in. Butcher and Siska have made really good friends, since you sent him down to help Snoop and I, so I’ll start with Butcher and start letting him weave his web.”  
“Good call,” Pete clasped his shoulder and squeezed, “Man, I’m so glad I found you, Beckett. Go find Big Sean and see where he wants to start. Gabe, stick around.”  
Bill sent Gabe a small smile and disappeared out of the room, shutting the door behind him.  
“You l _i-i_ ke him,” Pete sing-songed the moment the door was closed. Gabe crossed his arms and refused to look amused.  
“I have work to do,” Gabe grumbled, trying to sound like he really wanted to dive back into the list of things he had to do.  
“We have something to settle first,” Pete set on his desk and tapped his chair with his foot. Gabe, with a loud, put-upon sigh, set down in it and faced Pete.  
“I feel like a motorbaby,” He glared, arms still crossed. He was too long for the chair and his legs had to splay to keep himself from tilting right out of the broken seat. Pete, for all that he hated being so fucking short in comparison to his more vertically gifted friends, still found it funny that Gabe and Travie had such hard times fitting into his chair. It was the only thing he had left from Jay-Z and he couldn’t imagine getting rid of it, even if most of his friends were too tall for it.  
“Good, because you’re acting like one. You’ve been avoiding Patrick.”  
Gabe started to get up, but Pete’s pointed look forced him back down.  
“I haven’t,” He started before giving up. He hadn’t been able to lie to Pete a day in his life, and he couldn’t start then if he’d wanted to. “So?”  
“So,” Pete lost his smile, “I need my people cohesive, Gabe. We were thrown into a panic when Patrick was taken, and we’re nowhere near back to normal. You and Patrick aren’t speaking, Travie’s overwhelmed with trying to help you and take care of his own shit, I don’t think Andy’s slept in three days, Beyoncé’s been taken out of the equation until Catastrophe’s shit had been dealt with - “  
“To be fair,” Gabe pointed out, “Her girlfriend was brainwashed by Fireworks and now there’s a small war going on. Beyoncé kind of had an obligation,”  
“Shut up,” Pete sighed, “The point is, my council is over the deep end and I need everyone back to normal. I can’t get this place in order if I can’t even get my people in order. People are beginning to panic, Gabe.”  
“And you think me talking to Patrick is going to help you get us back in order,” Gabe frowned, “How?”  
“For one,” Pete leaned forward, “I want you to be okay.”  
“I’m great,” Gabe snapped, tensing up, “No need to go out of your way.”  
“Stop it,” Pete set back, stung, “Fuck off if you think I’m going _out of my way_ to make sure that you’re okay. I fucked up and I know it. Don’t think I don’t feel like shit for what I said to you, but how I feel doesn’t matter. Patrick just wants to apologize. He wants to make sure you don’t hate him, just like neither of us hate you. You did _the right thing_ , Gabe, but it fucking sucks that you had to make the decision to do it and Patrick knows that.”  
“He doesn’t need to apologize,” Gabe looked down, holding his arms to himself tighter, “It’s fine.”  
“It isn’t,” Pete shook his head, “It isn’t, and I think you two need to work it out between yourselves. If two of my supports aren’t working for each other, than they aren’t working for me, either. Just sit down with him, okay? You don’t have to do it now, but...eventually, okay? When you’re ready.”  
“What if I’m never ready?” Gabe asked quietly, not looking up, “What if I don’t want to forgive anyone, or get anyone’s forgiveness? What are you gonna do then?”  
Pete shrugged.  
“I dunno. I would prefer if that didn’t happen, though. I don’t know what to do, if you can’t forgive us. You’re my best friend, Gabe, and I love you. I don’t know how to do any of this without you, because I’ve always had you. I forgot that, and now I’m going to have to pay for it. But what I do know is that, if the two of you aren’t clicking, and my council isn’t a well-oiled machine, then I’m fucked. I can’t run this place without you, and I can’t run it without Patrick, and I can’t run it without the two of you working together.”  
“So, for the sake of the Young Bloods, I need to talk to Patrick.” Gabe sighed.  
“For all of our sakes, you need to talk to Patrick.” Pete shrugged, “Because if you can forgive him, I can hope that you’ll eventually forgive me even though what I did was probably unforgivable.”  
“You know I’ve already forgiven you,” Gabe said quietly, glancing up for a split second, “You know that, Pete.”  
“I know that you aren’t angry at me,” Pete admitted, “But I don’t want you to just...not be angry at me. I’d rather you be angry at me and know what I said was fucking bullshit, then be totally fine with me and - for even a fucking second - think anything I said was true.”  
“Haven’t we already had this conversation?” Gabe deflected, “I’m pretty sure we’ve already had this conversation.”  
“Then let’s have it again. With Patrick. And then we’ll smother you with tears and hugs and we won’t have it again.”  
“You swear, if I talk to Patrick, you won’t try to apologize again?”  
“On my honor,” Pete held up a hand, “No more trying to apologize, even if I am sorry for the rest of my life.”  
“Then I’ll talk to Patrick,” Gabe promised, “Can I go back to work and avoid crying now?”  
“Let’s both do that,” Pete grinned, standing up and meeting Gabe half way in a heartfelt bro-hug.  
Gabe followed in Bill's footsteps and disappeared when they'd pulled away from each other and scrubbed at their eyes a few times.  
Just like with Benzedrine, it wasn't much but it was something.  
Pete settled himself after that exchange and headed out to check on The Kids.  
They'd been given bedrooms, three empty rooms close to where Bob and Brian had taken residence in Patrick's, but they wouldn't leave each other’s sides at night and had taken to just sleeping in medical or on the floor in Patrick's room unless Brian swept them out. Pete checked next door in the music room first and found them on the first try, scattered around the room and tinkering.  
"Hey, guys," he greeted, announcing himself so he didn't scare them.  
Brendon turned to him, a smile lighting up his naturally tanned face. He took a swig of his water - a now constant accessory within his reach for when his tongue started to ache and dry - and then waved his hand enthusiastically, calling Pete over.  
“Ryan found out he can play the guitar!” He exclaimed, sounding just as excited as he had been when he'd found out that he had the muscle memories of playing a guitar, "We're gonna convince Bob to come try some instruments out, when he's better, to see if he learned any before, too."  
"Most city kids know at least one," Pete supposed, "Think you can get Brian to take him off bedrest?"  
"No problem," Dallon scoffed, "Andy thinks Brian has a head for numbers, so the two of them have been budgeting, when Andy has the time. I think, if we catch them at it, we can sneak Bob out. He’ll probably be dying to leave that room, after so long inside of it.”  
Pete, who hadn’t seen Bob show a sign of life unless The Kids were in the room, or Brian was looking particularly worried, doubted very much that Bob would care if he spent the rest of his life in that room. He, wisely, kept that to himself.  
“Sounds like a plan to me,” He looked Brendon over quickly, and then cast his eyes over the others.  
Spencer, sitting behind a drum kit and carefully hitting the bass drum, looked alert, for all that his milk-white eyes were far away. Next to him, sitting on the ground, Ryan was hunched over a guitar - attentive to the strings but always with an ear towards Spencer, in case he needed anything. It had only been a month, but Pete had to admit that they were healing well. Brendon and Jon sang together, even though Jon needed two hearing aids and still had problems hearing anything below loud talking, and it had been a little strange, at first, to hear the sounds of old Disney faction artists bouncing through the tunnels but Pete couldn’t imagine not having it, now. Brent was adjusting the least, rarely leaving Brian’s side unless he was tugged along by Dallon, who had managed to integrate himself into Brent’s recovery plan through playing the bass with him at strange hours of the night.  
“How is everyone?” He dropped his voice, leaning closer to Brendon. Pete had a fondness for the kid that Brendon unintentionally cultivated every time he started randomly singing and dancing or spontaneously deciding to learn an instrument under Patrick’s tutelage. To tell the truth, Pete had found that he was fond of all of The Kids, that he’d taken to them as fast as Patrick had warned him he would.  
“We-eell,” Brendon sighed, losing his smile, “Spencer woke up this morning and his eyes got worse.”  
Pete winced. “How bad?”  
“He can still see blurs in his left eye,” Brendon suddenly looked close to tears, the rims of his eyes and the tip of his nose going bright red, “But his right eye’s gone.”  
“Oh,” Pete got out, feeling a little shaky. Spencer had been acting so normal, for him, that Pete had hoped that the blindness had leveled out. Without the experimentations and forced triggers, nothing had been irritating whatever damage had been done, as far as Pete knew. Apparently, even being out of their prison, Better Living could still manage to fuck some poor kid over.  
“Ryan cried,” Brendon nodded, twinging the ukulele his hands sadly, “And then he yelled for a while. That made Brent upset, and then he got a runny nose and it made him throw up, and that made Ryan throw up because he started mind melding with Brent or whatever. It was kind of a chain reaction, because Dallon got twitchy and he cut the tip of his finger on a paper and didn’t notice and then there was blood everywhere and Spencer accidentally got it all over his face and his hair and - well...it was a bad morning. But we’re okay, now.”  
Pete, feeling both pathetic and like the worst man in the world for not having somehow stopped this from happening to them like he’d stopped it from happening to so many other city kids, hugged Brendon tight.  
“It’ll get better,” He swore, “I promise, Bden. It’ll get better.”  
“It’s already better,” Brendon hugged him back, squeezing Pete almost too tightly, “We’re healing. Spencer isn’t too upset about his sight. He said that, if all he had to pay to get out of that place was his vision, than he’d gladly pay it. I think that’s how we all feel, except maybe Ryan. But Ryan’s never been one for cutting his losses, so,” Brendon pulled back and shrugged, smiling again, “What does he know?”  
Pete, lost for words, nodded. He didn’t know what else to say, other than asking if Brendon was _sure_ that they were being taken care of, that Snoop was treating them as best he could and that they were getting plenty of food and rest.  
Luckily, Jeremy chose that moment to bring the motorbabies in. Brendon and Jon had, obviously, created quite the bond with the motorbabies, but Tyler - and, by extension, Smaller Josh - had taken quite the shine to Brendon and Spencer. The Alexes, on the other hand, had decided that they wanted to swarm Dallon’s tall, broad body every chance they got and this time was no different. While Dallon was pretending to be particularly soft tree for five thirteen year olds and Older Josh, Taylor, and Zac had decided that they preferred trying to convince Jeremy to take them to Hayley so they could train with her more, Pete braced for impact.  
Tyler did not disappoint. He landed on Pete’s back with a loud ‘hiiii-ya!’, like he was attacking Pete with his octopus arms, and Pete nearly buckled under the sudden weight. Josh, small and amused, grinned up at him.  
“Hi, Pete,” Josh greeted.  
“I got’cha!” Tyler said, triumphant.  
“You got me,” Pete laughed, falling to his knees so Tyler could jump off of him. He immediately linked hands with Josh and looked at Brendon, serious.  
“Do you know how to play that?”  
“This?” Brendon held up the ukulele, looking skeptical, “Of course I do. Do you?”  
“Of course,” Tyler nodded, like he was accepting a challenge, “I’m going to have to play you.”  
“Let’s do it,” Brendon accepted, offering the instrument to Tyler.  
“Bye, Pete,” Josh waved at him, following Tyler obediently. The only time Pete could remember seeing them not holding hands, now, was when they played. Jeremy had told him that he and Travis had had to transport them down the sewer together, their fingers had been so tightly interlocked. It was sweet, and it made Pete wish that he could hold someone like that. There were so many people he had to protect, that he loved. Tyler and Josh had decided that, fuck everyone else, they were never letting go of each other. Sometimes, the simplicity of childhood sounded so appealing.  
Brendon waved at him, looking enthusiastic for the coming ukulele-off, and Pete let himself out before he was dragged into the fight as a judge. He’d leave that to Jeremy.  
He found himself moving towards Patrick’s old room, without really thinking about it. It was muscle memory, to leave one place and immediately head towards Patrick’s place. Now, since he’d been back, Patrick had slept in Pete’s room. The picture of Ariel and his dad’s music player had long been moved to Pete’s own alcove, next to Pete’s yellow hospital bracelet - now matched by Patrick’s - and the only picture he had of all three of his parents together.  
The room that had belonged to Patrick since almost before he’d come to the tunnels was Bob and Brian’s now, and Pete hadn’t planned on going to check in on them today but, since he had already managed to get half way there without realizing it, he just kept going.  
Brian opened the door before the first knock.  
“Pete,” He blinked, looking exhausted, “Andy’s not here.”  
“I actually came to check on you two,” Pete shrugged, “Just saw your kids, so I figured I should see how you were doing, too.”  
“They’re good?” Brian asked, straightening up, “They haven’t been by today.”  
“Spencer,” Pete cleared his throat, “He lost one of his eyes. The other is still blurs.”  
Brian, looking just a little more devastated than he had the moment before, moved aside for Pete to walk in.  
Bob was sitting up, staring at his hands - a half gone apple in his fingers.  
“You’re awake,” Pete said to catch his attention, keeping the basically-mandatory five steps away from the bed. Ravenous, as it turned out, hated Sandman’s guts and that had come to include Pete, as well. Whatever Sandman had done to piss Benzedrine off, it had pissed Ravenous off even more.  
“Yes,” Bob agreed quietly, turning the apple between fingertips. “What happened to Spencer?”  
“His eyesight gave in one eye,” Pete set on the chair he still remembered dragging in years ago, “But otherwise, everyone is fine. How are you?”  
“Fine,” Bob nodded, “Can your doctor do anything about it?”  
“He’s trying to stabilize the loss. Jon loses more of his hearing every day, too. It seems to be getting worse.”  
“Brian was never like this,” Bob frowned, thinking, “He never lost any of his senses like this. When they stopped -” his breath hitched and he crushed the apple in his hand. He dropped the mash into the trashcan next to the bed. “When they stopped taking him back, he slowly went back to normal. Right?”  
“Right,” Brian nodded, “I think whatever transmits the data from their brains to Ryan’s is fucking up the area surrounding it. I’m not a brain doctor or anything, I just... even now, whatever is happening in their heads, it isn’t stopping.”  
“We can’t just crack their heads open,” Pete shook his head, “It just wouldn’t be plausible. It’s not safe, down here. Maybe, if we decontaminated a specific area...but we don’t have the tools Snoop would need. And he’s an army doctor, not a brain surgeon. Recovery time alone could take months, years, let alone if we just dig around their heads looking for something that could be the size of a pinhead,”  
“We have to do something!” Brian collapsed into the bed next to Bob, and Pete was once again present to see the phenomena that was Bob seeing that one of his people needed him and transforming from a bedridden shell of a human to a strong, comforting man.  
Brian leaned into Bob’s arm and Bob cradled him closer, finally meeting Pete’s eyes.  
“What you’re saying is that we need a doctor who can.”  
“We’d need x-rays,” Pete shook his head, “Tools, the right kind of room, a competent and confident team...we can’t just go digging around in their heads, guys. They might be losing a single sense, but they aren’t dying - not like they’d be if something went wrong.”  
“But what if I could find someone.” Bob leaned forward, “Could you get the room and the tools?”  
“Bob,” Pete leaned forward, breaking the five steps rule. Bob’s eyes flashed purple, but Pete ignored it, settling Sandman when he stirred, “Look. You’ve been locked away for too many years, okay? You can’t remember a thing about anything, except for a single person’s name and face. You can barely move right now, okay? I’ll figure something out to stabilize them, but it just isn’t possible for you to find a doctor right now. I’ll throw some bones in the desert, see if anything comes up and I’ll keep my people inside on it, too. Until then, you need to focus on yourself.”  
“I don’t have a _self_ anymore, Pete,” Bob stared at him, not even irritated, “Who I am is who they need me to be. And, right now, they need me to find them a doctor.”  
“They need you to get better,” Brian set back and looked Bob over, “You’re not trapped anymore, Bob. You’re free. _We’re_ free.”  
“You know,” Bob lifted his hand and Brian took it, “When Patrick took my hand and pulled us out into the sun, it burned. I remembered feeling something like that before, maybe when I was young...the burn of the sun. I thought...I was free. We were free. But I’m not free, Brian. When I close my eyes, I’m back in that room. I’m just waiting for Death Adder to find me. She won’t let me go, I’m her favorite. Ravenous and I won’t ever be free, not of her and not of Better Living. They have me. All I am is who you guys need me to be.”  
“Shut the fuck up,” Brian snapped, dropping Bob’s hand and standing up. Pete, slowly, got up and backed away, towards the door. Patrick had told him about Brian’s temper, especially when Bob got like this, and Pete wanted nothing to do with it. But Brian was between him and the door, and so Pete resigned himself to stay.  
“You listen to me, Bob,” Brian pointed at Bob, “You survived _seven years_ in that hellhole. You survived that bitch taking you back to that room every day for _seven years._ You survived being implanted with Ravenous, you survived them taking me, you survived them taking The Kids, you survived Patrick and Benzedrine, you survived _escaping_ Linda Vista. You _survived_. Do you understand me? You made it out with your heart beating and your brain working, so don’t you fucking _dare_ let them kill you now. Don’t you fucking _dare_ let them turn you into the puppet they’ve been trying to make you since you got there.”  
Brian pulled something out of his pocket and let it dangle from his fist - three rusted chains hooked together with a roughly carved ‘F’ swinging from them. Bob went tense, sitting up straight.  
“Do you see this fucking charm, Bob?” Brian asked, sounding pissed off and ready to fight about it, “If they took everything from you and you only live for us, then this is _worthless_. Is it fucking worthless, Bob!? Is _Frank_ worthless!? Because the person you sacrificed yourself for, the person who _carved_ this out of wood for you, the person you held on to during every _single_ back room visit, they didn’t love us, Bob! They only loved you, and if there’s no _you_ , than there’s no reason to have this!”  
“Brian!” Bob snapped, and he was suddenly out of the bed, “Give that to me!”  
“Then fucking say it, Bob!” Brian didn’t back down even half a step, “Tell me this isn’t worthless! Tell me you haven’t just given up after everything you went through!”  
“Give it to me!” Bob yelled, louder than Pete had ever heard him before.  
“Then _tell me_ , Bob,” Brian dropped his arm, looking at Bob with all the desperation, anger, and sadness Pete had seen in him every time their eyes had met since Brian had come down the sewer, “Tell me you’re still alive enough to have this charm mean something.”  
Bob glared at him, ferocious enough that Pete pressed himself to the wall to avoid getting in-between them, and took a careful, controlled step forward.  
Brian lifted the charm again, this time in offering instead of bait, and dropped it into Bob's outstretched hand. Bob pulled it to his chest and closed his eyes, looking relieved.  
"You wanted to live, man," Brian said, firm and still angry, "And, now, you fucking can. Why aren't you?"  
"Because I don't know who I'll be," Bob looked up from the charm, meeting Brian's eyes, defeated. "I don't know who I'll be, if I'm not the person you love."  
"We'll love you, no matter what, Bob." Brian scoffed, taking his hand again, "Don't be an idiot."  
Pete suddenly felt like it really was time to go.  
He stepped around them and got to the door before Bob stopped him.  
"I won't try to find a doctor," Bob promised, "If you can stabilize their losses."  
"I'll do my best," Pete let his hand fall to the knob.  
"Sorry to butt in but, um, I was where you were, once. After I'd been rescued. It took me awhile, but I realized something that helped me a lot."  
"And what was that?" Bob asked, voice barely there.  
"I am what _I_ love, not who loves me." Pete glanced at him, smiling, "Better Living took away your memories, and those are important. But, like Brian said, you still have your heart and your brain. Make more, and find out who you are, again. They haven't taken that, just hidden it from you. If I'd let the people who loved me shape who I was, then I never would have found who I am."  
Bob nodded, looking a little bit better, and Pete left, shutting the door behind him.  
He pressed his back to the wood, breathed out slowly, and went to find Patrick. He just wanted a few minutes with him, just a little bit of time where he could relax and forget about the shit that was happening.  
Patrick, luckily, wasn’t hard to find. Pete hadn’t realized it was close to lunch until he walked into mess to find most of the tables filled, and his usual table packed full of his friends.  
At the moment, there was nothing that sounded better than finding a place between them and immersing himself in Ryland and Suarez’s jokes.  
“Pete!” Joe stood up a little, waving even though Pete had already obviously spotted them, “Come sit with us and fuckin’ eat something, man!”  
Travie, in his usual spot, shoved Matt over enough that a space just big enough for Pete to squeeze into was open between Travie and Gabe, but Pete took the most direct route to what he really wanted and planted himself firmly in Patrick’s lap. The table erupted in wolf whistles and yelling, but Pete flipped the off and kissed Patrick’s cheek.  
“Hey,” He grinned, “Long time, no see.”  
“Yeah, this morning was like four hours ago,” Patrick scoffed, but his face was red and he leaned up for a proper kiss that had the table swarming again.  
Benzedrine, who had settled onto Pete’s bed upon Pete falling into Patrick’s lap, smirked at Pete from the sheets. Sandman, hidden behind his curtains, didn’t associate with Benzedrine.  
Pete settled into Patrick’s lap and looked over the table, feeling relaxed and happy. He sunk into the loudness, Disashi and Nate yelling at each other from across the table with Andy and Gabe chiming in occasionally, Victoria letting Eric braid her hair and casually munching on Travie’s cracker because Travie was distracted by Joe’s frankly astounding ability to bend his finger all the way back to his hand. Bill was absent, but Pete could already tell where he and his crew would fit between them all, piled on top of each other. He was almost excited for the new additions, for some new faces to hear all the old jokes and stories. Benzedrine didn’t say anything to him and Pete let himself get lost in it all, feeling - not _safe_ , but secure, both outside his head and in. Benzedrine wouldn’t hurt him, not again, and the curtains were within reach if Pete was wrong and Sandman was just brimming for another fight if something went south.  
“So, what have you done today, Pete?” Disashi got out through a mouth full of bread.  
Someone passed a bowl of dried fruit down the table to Pete’s grateful hands and he chewed a few pieces up before he answered.  
“Checked in on our new friends to see how everything was going. Bill’s going to be joining us, and so is his crew, so you better make room because his only demand for the hella great service he’s been giving us is a place at the table.”  
“Please,” Ryland shouted over Suarez and Matt scrabbling, “There’s plenty of room!”  
“Plenty of room, my ass,” Joe scoffed, making Vicky-T laugh.  
“Maybe your ass is why there isn’t plenty of room,” She teased, and Joe threw a piece of bread at her, which she ate without fanfare.  
Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete’s stomach unexpectedly and leaned against his shoulder, cheek to Pete’s shoulder blade.  
While the world went on around them, Pete set the bowl down - quickly whisked away to an equally hungry and less busy mouth - and leaned his head back so it was resting against the hat atop Patrick’s.  
“You okay?”  
Patrick nodded, squeezing his waist.  
“I’m just happy to be home,” Patrick said quietly, barely audible above the noise of their friends, “And I’m so fucking happy to have you right here, again.”  
“You and me, both,” Pete found Patrick’s hand and squeezed it, lacing their fingers together against his stomach. “How’s your head?”  
“He’s calm,” Pete didn’t know how, but the kiss Patrick pressed to his shoulder through his clothes was hot, like it had been pressed to bare skin instead of through a layer of cotton and other material. “Trying to figure out how to get Sandman to open that curtain.”  
“Well, I mean,” Pete laughed a little, “Maybe leaving the bloody corpses of BL pigs at our doorstep would work if he didn’t start ranting about owning Sandman the second he makes any headway.”  
“I think they talk while we sleep,” Patrick admitted, “Benzedrine hasn’t been getting as jealous about Sandman spending time with me. I think he’s starting to like you.”  
“As long as he doesn’t write his love for me in the blood of my enemies in a tunnel we bring kids through, I’m okay with him, too.”  
Patrick laughed, soft and low and warm through Pete’s shirt and Pete stole the bowl back when it was passed around, eating a few more and feeding some to Patrick when the table got distracted by the thumb war between Travie and Gabe, ref’ed by Andy.  
Pete would get tired, eventually, of settling for the small moments of happiness in the never-ending sea of shit that had been falling over him lately, but he wasn’t yet so he enjoyed it while he had it.  
It, obviously, didn’t last long.  
Beyoncé came back two days later, a little burnt around the edges but with news that Catastrophe and fifteen other Pop Princess - including one of the council and their Trinity girls - had broken away from the faction. Apparently, this missing Arsyn was very important, to both the Headmistress and her heir. Pete and Catastrophe hadn’t had much contact, but - what with him being Beyoncé’s adopted son and the heir to the Young Bloods and her having been the one most expected to be picked as the council’s heir under Skater Boi, they had met before. He could even remember Arsyn, Catastrophe’s Andy, and he felt for Catastrophe that her friend had been stolen from her - worst, stolen from her by people who weren’t even Better Living. She’d been sweet when he’d last spoken to her, hardcore like Beyoncé but with a smile that lit up her face.  
From what Beyoncé told him, that smile was gone, now. Skater Boi was pissed, but she couldn’t fight the backing of someone like the Headmistress, not even for fifteen of her girls. Even if those girls included her heir and their Trinity girls. Without them, Skater Boi would have a really hard time keeping the Pop Princess’ weaponry up and running, let alone up to date.  
Pete wanted to offer his help, to both groups, but with the rumors he was hearing about Catastrophe tearing the city apart looking for Arsyn, it didn’t sound like she’d accept him. He sent Maja and Rihanna back to Skater Boi to show his support, but that was about all he could do unless Arsyn fell into his lap and he convinced Catastrophe and the Headmistress to stop splitting their powerful faction apart in the middle of a war zone like Battery City.  
Mere hours after he’d absolved himself of that situation, with Beyoncé’s affirment that he wanted to be as far from that shit as he could get, news much worse than a relatively close faction going through a weak spot found his desk in the form of a grim faced Travie.  
Pete, having been reading over Bill’s latest report on the prototype plans, lost the warm feeling in his stomach.  
“What happened?”  
“Someone died, that’s what happened.” Travie closed the door tight behind him. “Big Sean’s doing his best to keep crowds away, but it isn’t often we find bodies _in_ the tunnels.”  
“Do we know what happened?” Pete asked, sliding his report pile into a file holder and shoving that into one of his drawers to lock away, “Who did it?”  
“It was murder, as far as we can tell,” Travie hesitated, stopping Pete from walking to the door with a hand on his shoulder. “There’s a message on the wall.”  
Warm feeling long gone, Pete’s stomach sank. “What did it say?”  
“ _Mine_.” Travie told him, squeezing Pete’s shoulders, “It...fuck, Pete, it’s all stabbed up like the bodies we found out front.”  
“Take me to the scene,” Pete held his breath for a full minute so he didn’t yell at Travie. “And find me Patrick.”  
“Andy has him,” Travie opened the door and let Pete walk through, “He’s in protective custody at the scene. People have started making the same connections Gabe and I have.”  
“Scene, then Patrick.” Pete decided. He needed to see the damage, the body. The message.  
It was only a few tunnels away from the music room, assuring whoever had killed the person that their victim would be found quickly.  
Their victim _had_ been found quickly. The blood on the wall was still fresh, barely dried enough to have stopped gleaming in the dim light of the tunnel, when Pete and Travie arrived. Snoop was looking over the victim, a middle aged man a few years younger than Snoop who Pete could remember having been around since he’d been young. Pete had never known his name, but he remembered his face well enough to feel a stab of grief.  
“Pete?” Patrick shoved past Andy and Joe, eyes worried and sad but clear of any signs of tears. “What’s going on? What happened to him?”  
“Do you know if Benzedrine did this?” Pete asked quietly, crowding into Patrick’s space and dropping his voice, “Tell me now, so I know what I’m doing when the first wave breaks passed Big Sean.”  
“He didn’t,” Patrick glared, “I’d know. He hasn’t touched one of our people, let alone like this.”  
Pete sighed, nodding. “I needed to make sure.”  
“Ask him, yourself.” Patrick offered his hand and Pete laced their fingers together, taking a breath to avoid being overcome by the flash of anger and gold that suddenly filled their shared space.  
 _Pete,_ Sandman rolled over in bed, glaring at both he and Benzedrine. _What the fuck is going on?_  
Pete waved him off, turning his attention to Benzedrine.  
“I have never,”Benzedrine snarled, “touched one of your people.”  
“I believe you.” Pete nodded, “I don’t know why, but I believe you. Don’t worry, Benzedrine. Nothing is going to happen to you, or Patrick.”  
“No,” Benzedrine started pacing,“This was obviously meant to look like my doing. It even appears to be handwriting similar to my notes towards Sandman,”  
“Towards me?”Sandman scoffed, but Benzedrine ignored him.  
“Someone is setting me up, Pete,”Benzedrine accused, “And I demand to know who it is.”  
“Just give me a few minutes,” Pete placated, “I just got here. I’ll figure this out. In the meantime, just let Patrick front, okay? Please. I don’t want this to get bloodier than it already is. Sandman, keep Benzedrine company.”  
“Fuck you,” Sandman snapped, standing up and going for the curtain he’d practically installed permanently into the ceiling.  
“Oh, but Sandman,” Benzedrine purred, settling onto Pete’s bed, “We could have so much fun,”  
“Your kind of fun is fucked up,” Sandman glared and, while they were both distracted, Pete blinked back into place, where Patrick was waiting, a little dazed.  
“I believe you both,” Pete knocked their foreheads together lightly, pulling Patrick out of wherever he went when Benzedrine was conversing with them in their shared space, “I know you didn’t do this.”  
“Good,” Patrick glanced over his shoulder, down the hallway where the crowd that had gathered could be heard, “I don’t know who did this, or why, but -”  
“We’ll figure it out,” Pete narrowed his eyes, “And we’ll get justice or this guy. He didn’t deserve this.”  
“Incoming,” Andy warned, moving between the two of them and the small group that had broken through Big Sean’s miniature barricade. And, because Pete’s luck only held strong when it was going south, it was led by fucking Sunshine. Sunshine, emblazoned in Pete's memory as 'the only guy to actually go for the throat when I told my naysayers to fight me', had been a thorn in Pete's literally everywhere since Yeezus had died. He wasn't a _bad_ guy, but there was no love lost between the two of them. Andy, who had been itching for a fight with Sunshine since he's tried to choke Pete to death, tensed.  
"What the fuck is this!?" Sunshine tossed a hand at the body Snoop was quickly covering up, "Why isn't he in chains!?"  
"Because he's dead," Pete offered, hoping that maybe Sunshine would back off without a fight.  
"I meant Stump," Sunshine seethed, getting in his face and looking murderous. "It's obvious who did this!"  
"First," Andy pushed between them, "Back off. Second, this is a fucking set up. Patrick didn't do this."  
"Maybe it isn't Patrick," Sunshine turned his eyes to Patrick, "Maybe it's that thing inside of him,"  
"Benzedrine didn't do this," Pete snapped, pushing Patrick behind him, "And he isn't a thing, asshole. I'm going to find out who did this, but you need to calm down. Pointing fingers isn't going to help us at all,"  
"You don't need to find anyone!" Sunshine turned to his group, an assortment of troublemakers and people Pete knew were loyal both, "Does anyone else know of anyone who rips people apart and then writes on walls with their blood!?"  
A low grumble went through the group, sounding unsure, and Pete took a deep breath to avoid losing his temper.  
“Why would Benzedrine kill one of our own people?” Pete asked him, “For fucks sake, he’s only killed Dracs and Vixens and now you want to accuse him of murder? You haven’t even met him, let alone know him enough to just decide he killed someone he had no beef with!”  
“I don’t need to know him to know his _kind_ , Pete!” Sunshine tried to shove passed Andy and only got a hard push back for his efforts, “I know Sandman and I know you and I know you’ve killed innocent people because you can’t control yourself. Beyoncé, Jay-K, _Yeezus_ , all of them let you get away with it for far, far too fucking long.”  
He turned back to his group, larger now that Big Sean had come to see what the commotion was about and the barricade had been broken.  
“And now, we’ve got a _new_ monster! No, _two_ new monsters! Maybe it wasn’t Patrick, maybe if was that dead-eyed lump they dragged back through the tunnels like a sack of bricks - hell, maybe it was those brats they brought in here without even interrogating! For all you know, they’re spies - the lot of them! Then again,”  
He turned to look at Pete again, just as gob smacked as his friends around him at the audacity Sunshine was showing, “We’re being led by Better Living scum, already.”  
Andy looked ready to deck him, but before he got the chance to, Pete was being pushed to the side and Patrick was lurching forward.  
With a bellow of rage, Patrick caught Sunshine around the middle and hurled the both of them to the floor. For a second, Pete was terrified that Benzedrine hadn’t kept his word, had come out anyway and he’d have to deal with Benzedrine _really_ killing one of his people in cold blood. But his body language was wrong. He wasn’t commanding, all-encompassing. He was still as drawn in and small as Patrick always was - except he was _furious_.  
“Patrick!” Andy tried to grab Patrick before Sunshine recovered and retaliated, but Patrick pushed him off and reeled his arm back to punch Sunshine so hard in the face that his head bounced off the concrete of the ground. Andy succeeded in dragging him off the next time he tried and one of Sunshine’s friends dropped to his side to help him sit up.  
“Say something again, motherfucker!” Patrick yelled, trying to get away from Andy so he could get a second hit in, “Say that shit again, and I’ll -”  
“Patrick!” Pete stopped him, moving so Pete was between Patrick and Sunshine, “It’s okay!”  
“It isn’t!” Patrick tried to unclench Andy’s hands from his shirt to little avail, “It fucking isn’t! You sacrifice fucking everything for this faction and to hear this asshole call you that - He has no idea what you’ve been through! What Bob or The Kids have been through! No fucking idea, and he wants to call you Better Living scum!? He wants to call those poor kids _spies_!? They’ve been through more in two years than he’s been through in his whole fucking life!”  
Sunshine, dazed and pissed, stood up, looking ready to fight, “You can talk big, but you’re a fucking pussy! The only reason you hit me is because you know you can rely on your new fucking monster!”  
“Benzedrine has nothing to do with why I hit you, fuckface!” Patrick tried to lurch at him again, but Andy had a tight grip on him, “I’d do it again, if they’d let me go!”  
“You heard him, Pete,” Sunshine spit blood at Pete’s feet, “He wants to go again. That’s a fucking challenge if I ever heard one.”  
“No,” Pete turned to Snoop, “I want a full report on that body. Travie, clear your schedule. You and Disashi are on the scene. Gabe, Big Sean, clear the hall. Sunshine, get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper,”  
“And now you won’t even honor a challenge!” Sunshine laughed, harsh and mocking, “That scared I’ll rip your boyfriend apart?”  
“Fuck you!” Patrick spat at him, “A month’s training is all I need to kick your ass!”  
“You’re on, pipsqueak!” Sunshine laughed and looked over Pete’s shoulder at Patrick, “That is, if you can convince our leader to let you die!”  
“Pete,” Patrick stopped trying to get away from Andy and looked back at Pete, serious and just as angry as Sunshine.  
“No,” Pete said firmly, “Out of the question,”  
“I’ve been training with Joe and Andy,” Patrick argued, “And you always told me that challenges were important to face.”  
Pete couldn’t argue with that, so he just turned his head away. A month of training was nothing compared to the years that Sunshine had under his belt, to the anger he’d been holding onto towards Pete for as long as Pete had been with the Young Bloods. The chance for him to take all of that out on Patrick, who still wasn’t even fully recovered from his stint in Linda Vista, was too great. Pete couldn’t risk it, honor or no.  
“Pete, listen to me,” Patrick snapped, demanding Pete’s attention on him again, “You can’t tell me I can’t fight. I make the decisions about what I do. I challenged him, because he’s a fucking asshole and you can’t shut him up because he isn’t worth your attention,” he slid his eyes over to Sunshine again, staring him in the face, “But if he’s got shit to say to me about Benzedrine, where I came from, or the people I love, then he can say them to my fist.”  
“I -” Pete clutched at the hem of his shirt, moving his eyes from Patrick to Andy. The _thought_ of letting Patrick fight Sunshine was making his blood go cold, was making Sandman stir in a way he hadn’t had to in a very long time. It was like Pete was in a nightmare, with a bloody white sheet over a still figure and Patrick close to death’s door and jiggling the handle.  
Andy watched him, serious and much, much calmer than either Pete or Patrick. On one hand, Pete knew that if Pete said _no_ , then Andy would back him up. He’d talk Patrick down, or just pick him up and carry him off. On the other hand, Patrick had challenged Sunshine and if Pete told him he couldn’t do it, then Patrick would lose any ounce of face he’d worked fucking hard to drum up within the Young Bloods. Losing would be worse than being told he wasn’t strong enough to fight his own battles.  
Andy nodded and Pete, hesitant and unwilling, consented.  
“Fine. The two of you can fight it out, tonight.”  
“Tonight,” Sunshine said immediately, “Training Room, ten. If I win, you take your Better Living trash and get the fuck out of this faction,”  
“Fine,” Patrick shrugged Andy off the moment he loosened his grip, but didn’t try to jump Sunshine again, “I’m not fucking scared of you.”  
“I think you misunderstood,” Sunshine sneered, looking back at Pete, “I meant _all_ of your Better Living trash.”  
The hallway went quiet.  
Patrick turned to look at Pete, but Pete had seen it coming the moment Sunshine had demanded the challenge be accepted.  
“Fine.” Pete said for Patrick, because his mouth had fallen open and he didn’t seem likely to agree to any fight where _Pete_ was in danger - but the challenge had been issued and accepted.  
Sunshine nodded, looking smug.  
“You all have your orders. I want this hallway cleared. Someone call Beyoncé in from ground level. Patrick, you’re with me. We’re going to talk.”  
“Enjoy giving orders now,” Sunshine called after them, “You won’t be able to do it for much longer!”  
Pete gave him the bird and listened to Travie non-too-gently shove him into the crowd and begin clearing the hallway.  
“What are we going to do,” Andy fell in next to Pete, walking quickly. Patrick followed them, letting Pete lead him by his hand - cold and sweaty, now. Outside of the moment, coming down, he was probably realizing just what had happened.  
“You focus on finding out who the hell killed that man,” Pete stopped, “I want them _found_ , Andy. Patrick and I are going to go make some arrangements with Benzedrine and Sandman and then I’m going to spend the rest of this fucked over day making sure Patrick won’t die.”  
Andy nodded, stressed out and angry, and then he was turning around to take control of what was happening in the tunnel. Pete hadn’t said ‘making sure Patrick won’t lose,’ and all of them had heard the difference.  
Pete sped up the moment they were out of sight. Patrick’s hand spasmed in his and Pete picked up the pace again, until they were nearly running. He didn’t think they’d make it to his office, but they were close enough to a room used mostly for storage and that would have to do because -  
Pete slammed the door shut, blocking the world out and locking them into their own private place, and Patrick started to hyperventilate.  
“Patrick,” he squeezed Patrick’s hand, leading him to sit on the cool ground and try to relax. Patrick pressed his hand to the floor, squeezing Pete’s fingers with the other, and then laid down on the ground and pressed his face against the coolness, trying to cool himself off. Pete had been there before, had needed to lay flat on the stone and just let the cold soak into him. Patrick took in deep, ragged breaths, one hand still squeezing Pete’s and the other fisted against the concrete and rock.  
Pete rubbed his back slowly and ignored Benzedrine and Sandman both when they tried to talk to him. For once, he wanted the curtains in place.  
Patrick calmed down, eventually, but it was more to do with his own inner strength than any comfort Pete offered. Patrick always talked himself down, rather than let Pete or one of their friends do it for him. Pete envied him in that, that he didn’t need others to help him find his way out of his own head. Pete could stay lost forever in the cycle of his own panic, if no one stopped him.  
“Pete,” Patrick choked when he could finally speak, “Pete, what the hell did I do? What the hell did I do?”  
“It’s okay,” Pete assured him, even though it really, really wasn’t.  
“It really, really isn’t!” Patrick exclaimed, standing up and beginning to pace. Pete didn’t bother standing. “When I lose to that asshole, you’ll get kicked out of the faction!”  
“It was a challenge,” Pete shrugged, “And the two parties agreed to the terms.”  
“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Patrick covered his face with his hands, “I just got so _angry_ , and - for once - I didn’t feel like I should hide it, but now - damn it!” he dropped to his knees and punched the ground, frustrated.  
Pete smiled, even though he was panicking just a little on the inside. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Patrick and believe in him, because he did, but Pete had _seen_ Patrick in training. He was improving, to be sure, and Benzedrine’s influence had helped him pick it up easily and quickly, but he wasn’t on anyone else’s level yet. Especially not on someone like Sunshine’s, who had been training since before Pete had been alive.  
“I’m proud of you,” He admitted, stopping Patrick’s fist from punching the ground again. He kissed his bloody knuckles, not caring about the blood. Patrick’s hand would heal by the time the fight was scheduled. “Benzedrine has given you some confidence. We’ve all done stupid things to defend the people we care about. Andy almost beat the shit out of Maja once, when we were kids. Maybe you could have picked a better target, sure, but...I’m trusting you here, Patrick. I know you can do this.”  
“What if I can’t?” Patrick asked, miserable.  
“You can.” Pete shrugged. If it had to happen, it would do him no good to think Patrick wouldn’t win. “You stuck up for us. Now, you show them that you can back up your shit. Find your voice.”  
Patrick frowned, straightening his slumped shoulders a little, “My voice?”  
“The first time I went to the desert on a legit mission, Yeezus told me that I had to prove to the faction that I wasn’t a monster. That I was just as much a victim of Better Living as they were. As a leader, I’m their voice. As a member of my council, you’re their voice, too. I had to find that voice in myself, and now you do. It isn’t good enough to just do what’s right, the people who trust in us need to know that we _know_ how they feel, that we lost just as much as they did. I made a mistake, protecting you from them. I should have let you show yourself more often, given you tasks that weren’t just looking over my work and keeping you away from the rougher side of the faction. I shouldn’t have been so over protective, because _now_ is when they’re demanding you prove yourself.”  
Patrick sighed, staring down at their hands, “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have been able to prove anything to them. I’m glad you protected me. I wasn’t raised like anyone else, here. I was supposed to be quiet, unless spoken to, and then I was supposed to give rehearsed answers. I’m not used to colors, because everything I owned was black and white unless I smuggled it in from the alleys. I can’t fight. I have trouble _yelling_ , sometimes, let alone proving to people that Better Living hurt me. Two years isn’t enough time to rewire a whole childhood.”  
“And now?” Pete asked, because he could hear the _but_.  
“But Benzedrine has helped me,” Patrick flicked his eyes up for a moment, like he was scared Sandman would think he was betraying him. “He never lets me back down from something, anymore. It’s a constant battle with him just to keep control of myself. He makes me scream and yell and argue, over every little thing. It’s stressful as fuck, but I feel stronger for it. It’s hard to believe he’s Better Living, because he’s just chaos and color. I wish you could see it, sometimes, because it’s fucking...for such a monster, he’s beautiful. It’s terrifying, to be trapped inside with that. It makes everything out here...less.”  
“Less intimidating.” Pete nodded. He’d had Sandman since he was five years old, and he could barely remember anything before he was seven, but having Sandman next to him had always made it easier to deal with the hatred he’d faced when he’d first come to the Young Bloods. On top of his nightmares, there had been suspicion and anger that Sandman had been a spy or a monster sent to wipe them out. Yeezus had made him defend himself and Jay-Z had only intervened when he deemed it too much for Pete to handle on his own. Beyoncé had always listened, though, when he’d cried. As he got older, he’d cried less. He’d become stronger.  
Patrick was becoming stronger.  
“But I made a really stupid fucking mistake,” Patrick set back and rubbed his eyes with his hands, “I can’t beat Sunshine, Pete! That guy is like twice my size!”  
“I mean,” Pete offered, “You did take him down with a single punch.”  
“I was pissed off and I’m pretty sure Benzedrine had something to do with that force, because he was angry about the shade being thrown at Ravenous.”  
“Still,” Pete shrugged, “There isn’t much I can do except believe in you. You’ll figure something out, Patrick. You’re a resourceful guy. If you need to, just remember that you’re not doing this for yourself, or to beat up some asshole. You’re doing this because you need to. You have to defend the people you care about, and your place with us, here. That’s important enough to fight for, right?”  
“Of course,” Patrick nodded, shaking his fist out. He looked a little lost in thought, so Pete left him to it.  
 _We can’t let him do this,_ Sandman glared at him, _Sunshine could kill him. Benzedrine could kill Sunshine._  
 _We have to let him do it._ Pete shrugged, _If we don’t, he’ll never be accepted here. Bob, Brian, The Kids, none of them will be accepted. Hell, if he doesn’t do this, you and I are out on our asses._  
 _If this place doesn’t want us, then we should just leave and start our own faction,_ Sandman snapped, _Andy, Gabe, possibly Travis and William, their teams, a handful of loyalists, Big Sean. Hell, Maja and her following would come with us. Fuck the Young Bloods!_  
 _You know I can’t do that,_ Pete looked across the room at Sandman, taking in the fact that the walls were beginning to yellow. He hadn’t noticed it, not since Patrick had been back, but it was almost like the room was dying. The longer Benzedrine was present, the more faded the walls seem to become with each passing day. Pete couldn’t decide if it was a sign that _they_ were dying, or that one or both of them were ready to face their memories. From what Benzedrine had been hinting, it seemed that Pete wasn’t the only one who had sealed some memories away. _Where would we go? What would we survive on? We’d lose all of our progress, all of our momentum. We’d be weak, and now isn’t the time for us to be weak. Patrick will just have to win._  
 _Benzedrine -_  
 _Would only make it worse. Think about it, Sandman. You know the same things I know. You hardly discriminate, why the fuck would he?_  
Sandman didn’t say anything back, so Pete looked back to Patrick. Patrick was biting his lip, deep in thought - or, possibly, a conversation with Benzedrine.  
“Alright,” Patrick finally nodded, meeting Pete’s eye with a new fierceness, “I can’t take it back, so I’m just going to have to live with it. Benzedrine agreed not to interfere unless I’m about to die.”  
“Come with me, then,” Pete smiled, standing up and offering his hand, “We’re going to spar until it’s time to fight.”  
Patrick, determined and willing to fight, took his hand and pulled himself off the ground.  
-  
Pete wasn’t as nervous as he had been, when the time to head out came. Patrick wouldn’t be curb-stomping anyone, but he might actually have a chance at winning if he used the tricks Pete had shown him. He didn’t need to kill Sunshine, because that wasn’t usually how challenges worked, but if he could knock him down for ten counts, then they’d be golden. Just ten counts with Sunshine on the mat, and Patrick was safe.  
Pete just had to hope that Patrick’s anger would hold out for a full fight. With Benzedrine involved, Pete didn’t think it would be too much of a problem. Benzedrine was just a ball of crazy and anger on any given day, especially when someone fucked with Ravenous or Sandman.  
“How’re you feelin’?” He asked Patrick, arm around his shoulders as they walked.  
“Like I’m walking to my grave,” Patrick admitted, “I think I’m just gonna silently stew next time someone pisses me of.”  
Pete laughed, “Or, at least, don’t challenge them in front of a big group of people.”  
“Or that.” Patrick smiled, looking a little pale.  
“Just remember what you’re fighting for,” Pete offered, “And the tricks. “  
“The tricks that aren’t cheating because this is the city.” Patrick repeated, a little color returning to his cheeks.  
“Right,” Pete agreed, pressing a firm kiss to his temple. They didn’t meet anyone on the way to the training room, but Pete hadn’t expected them to. If anything, everyone would have been in the mess or the training room, themselves, some sort of camera set up to watch the fight across the tunnels. This was the first time anyone would be seeing Patrick actually fight for his place - physically, anyway.  
He’d actually expected to get all the way inside the training room before they’d have to deal with anyone, but he hadn’t accounted for the news reaching Bob and the others until they’d found the training room door being blocked by The Kids, Bob and Brian to either side of them. For having seen Bob only a few hours earlier, he looked like a new person. Gone was the thin excuse that had been talking as if he had died in Linda Vista and who was replacing him was the same strong, broad ox of a man who had helped Brendon down the ladder three weeks ago. Next to him, even Brian had seemed to grow intimidating with his scars and obvious limp.  
“You can’t do this,” Ryan crossed his arms, “That guy is like me and Brendon combined, if we ate Dallon.”  
“I have to,” Patrick shrugged, “I challenged him,”  
“Tell him Benzedrine challenged him,” Brent demanded, “See if he still wants to fight, then!”  
“Brent,” Pete started, but Brent threw him a glare nasty enough to shut him up.  
“Can’t you stop this?” Brian asked him, looking between the two of them worriedly, “Patrick, you can’t fight,”  
“I have a few tricks,” Patrick promised him, “There’s nothing Pete can do for me, here. It’s my fault, and I have to live with the consequences,”  
Spencer suddenly leaned forward and hugged Patrick, scared and eyes teary, “Patrick, I don’t want to lose you,”  
“Hey,” Patrick frowned, hugging him back tight, “Shut your face. I might get beat up, but a guy like that won’t kill me. If Doctor Death Adder can’t do it, neither can this dickoff. Don’t worry, okay?”  
“But I can’t see you,” Spencer whispered, all baby faced and sad, “I can’t see how you’re doing. I can’t see that you’re alright,”  
“I’ll be okay, Spence,” Patrick promised him, squeezing him again, “And I’ll tell you that, myself, afterwards, okay?”  
“You swear?” Dallon crossed his arms across his chest, managing to look both like a giant puppy and a very, very sad kid.  
“I swear,” Patrick reassured them, “It’s just a challenge. Everyone has to fight at some time, right? Pete told me I wasn’t a fighter, once, and that’s okay, and it is. I’m not a fighter. But this guy is talking shit he has no right to talk about and I won’t let him.”  
Brendon sniffed and Pete was horrified to see literal tears falling from his eyes.  
“Bren, don’t cry,” Patrick offered his other arm and Brendon flew into it, crying hysterically into his neck.  
Pete glanced at Bob, the only one to not say anything, and found that he was being watched right back. Bob seemed to be say, ‘This wasn’t the deal we made’, but he didn’t try to argue with Pete. Maybe he saw that, as much as The Kids didn’t want Patrick to fight, Pete felt the exact same way.  
Patrick finally peeled Spencer and Brendon off and gave each of them a hug, the others lining up to get their own goodbyes, and then he was in front of Bob and Brian.  
“Hey,” he waved a little.  
“You’re an idiot,” Brian said firmly, and hugged him. Patrick breathed out a sigh and hugged him back, relaxing his tense shoulders. Bob carefully wrapped an arm around the both of them and Pete could see the pain he was hiding.  
“I told you I would protect you,” Bob finally intoned, voice soft and numb.  
“I can protect myself, now.” Patrick smiled, “At least, until you’re better. I’ll be fine.”  
“I’ll kill him, if you aren’t.” Bob didn’t sound like he was exaggerating. The purple in his eyes didn’t seem to be, either.  
Patrick smiled though, more relaxed than he’d been since he’d started the stupid challenge. With Pete, Bob, Sandman, and Ravenous, not to mention Benzedrine, surrounding him and his friends only behind a door, this was as safe as he’d ever be.  
Pete watched him gather himself, pull his shoulders back so he was up to his full height - as short as it was - and step out of the protective circle Brian and Bob had created around him. He looked back at Pete and offered his hand. Pete, probably more scared than Patrick was, grabbed it.  
They walked into the room to find a silent crowd. Pete was right and he could see at least one camera aimed at the center ring, the rest of the practice materials having been torn down and stored or otherwise moved to make room for the huge crowd that had gathered. The only free space seemed to be the area a foot around the ring and a path from the door to the ring, guarded by Pete’s council and friends.  
Andy and Joe stood with Travie and Gabe at the end of the path, the connecting points between the crowd and the ring.  
Beyoncé stood behind Andy, giving Patrick an approving look. Pete should have guessed she would have commended him for challenging someone so much bigger and more experienced than him. She’d always been one to root for the underdog. No wonder she was a rebel.  
“He’s got a fucked leg,” Gabe dropped as soon as they were within whispering distance, “His left side is weak, go for the pressure points like Andy showed you.”  
“He’s slower if you get him good in his left hip,” Andy grabbed Patrick’s shoulder, looking at him seriously, “Hit him there a few times and he won’t stand a chance. You’ve got a good punch, when you use it right.”  
“He’s old,” Travie gave the air an ‘ol’ one-two’ motion, “But he’s fast. He usually uses a one-two attack so if you get hit the first time, watch out for the second and if you dodge the first time, use the second against him. He can’t protect his sides if his arm is out.”  
“Break his leg,” Joe said as seriously as Pete had ever heard him, “I’m not joking, Patrick. Break his leg and take him down.”  
“Guys,” Patrick blinked, looking emotional, “Thanks.”  
“Shut up and fuck him up, Stump,” Andy narrowed his eyes, “I let you get away with disobeying me because of extenuating circumstances last time, but it won’t happen again, got it?”  
“You’ll haunt me,” Patrick grinned at him, like they had some sort of inside joke Pete wasn’t aware of.  
“I’ll haunt your ass,” Andy repeated back at him, “Chains rattling and all.”  
Patrick nodded at him again and then dropped Pete’s hand and shook his wrists out, letting out a breath.  
“Sandman?” He glanced at Pete and Pete let Sandman surface, just enough for him to be able to hear Patrick without the yellowing walls between them, “You can’t protect me, okay? This is my fight,”  
Sandman made no promises, but Pete nodded for him.  
“Let’s get this over with,” Patrick gulped, nerves and adrenaline making his voice a little high. Pete tried not to think that he was sending fucking _Patrick_ into a ring, and led him between the rough ropes that had been used to block the ring from the crowd.  
Sunshine joined them moments later, looking relaxed and like he wanted to get this over with as much as Patrick did so he could get on with his life - sans Pete and the Better Living scum living in the tunnels with the Young Bloods.  
Pete raised his hand, even though the room had been nearly dead silent already, to gather everyone’s attention. He faced towards the camera but looked over the live crowd, meeting as many eyes as he could. “This is _not_ a fight to the death! Flat on the mat for ten counts and a winner is declared! This isn’t the fucking sands, so it’s no holds barred - that being said, if I see any form of weapon on this ring, I’ll use it to gut whoever has it, be it one of these two or another asshole who wants to join in. Patrick won’t use Benzedrine except in the case of his healing - which he _cannot control_. Because of this, I’m allowing Sunshine two one-minute time-outs, rather than just the usual allowance of one per fighter. Questions, concerns, comments!?”  
“None here,” Sunshine smirked, like the taunted fuckhead he was.  
“No.” Patrick shook his head. Pete nodded and dropped his hand.  
“If I win,” Sunshine spoke up, “You, Pete, and all of the fucking Better Living spies you brought into our home leave - no waiting around. They drag your broken ass out of this room and to the surface, and they forget they ever knew a way to this place.”  
“And if I win?” Patrick glowered. At least Pete wouldn’t have to worry about him losing his anger.  
“If you win?” Sunshine laughed, hands on his hips in a confidence stance, “I don’t have to worry too much, I don’t think. But _if_ you, by some miracle, beat me, I’ll do you a favor. I’ll give you a contact to some doctors. They’ve worked with Better living rescues before. Maybe they can help your spy friends.”  
Patrick didn’t answer, his mouth falling open.  
Pete, feeling like he was making the biggest mistake of his life, squeezed Patrick’s shoulder and got out of the ring.  
A bell rang, and the crowd came alive, suddenly screaming and yelling and cheering, some for Patrick, some for Sunshine, and some for violence.  
Pete didn’t enter the crowd. He stayed on Patrick’s side of the ring, as close as the ropes would let him be, watching and waiting. He felt Andy come to his side and, while the two of them circled each other, he asked Andy about the murder.  
“Snoop said it was self-inflicted.” Andy answered, eyes not leaving the ring. “A friend of his turned in a journal he kept. It looks like he was having trouble with his head. Paranoia, feeling like he was being watched. There are grooves in the wall. I think he tried to stab himself and, when he couldn’t go through with it deeply enough, he rammed himself into the wall with the knife, leaving the grooves.”  
Patrick saw an opening, stooped and rammed his fist into Sunshine’s hip. Sunshine didn’t go down, but he crumpled just a little.  
“And the words on the wall?”  
“It’s written all over his journal.” Andy shrugged. “A tragedy, worked into Sunshine’s agenda.”  
Pete fisted the ropes in his hand and nodded. “We’ll plan a burial, when this is over. I want the contact Sunshine was talking about, no matter who wins.”  
“I’ll find it.” Andy turned to go and Pete’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist tight. Andy stopped walking and Pete didn’t flinch when Sunshine kicked Patrick so hard he flew across the ring.  
“Stay with me.”  
Andy eased his hand around and held Pete’s wrist back, nodding. “Always.”  
Patrick, clutching at his ribs, struggled onto his knees and one hand, the other holding his ribcage protectively, gagging once before he got a hold of himself. He got to his feet with only a few seconds to dive out of the way of Sunshine’s charge, landing and rolling away from Sunshine’s stomp. He was on the defensive and Pete would have hoped that he had stayed on offense for a little longer if Pete could have hoped for anything more than just Patrick coming out alive at the end of this. With Patrick in the ring, Pete couldn't even remember _why_ he’d been so adamant that they couldn’t just say _Fuck the Young Bloods_ , and leave.  
Sunshine caught Patrick by his hair and smashed his fist into Patrick’s face and for just a moment, Pete saw black. Andy dragged him out of it with a firm arm around his waist, pinning Pete’s arms with his own - a steady reminder that he couldn’t do anything. He was helpless. This was Patrick’s battle.  
Sunshine dropped Patrick and Patrick took his chance, even with blood dripping from his nose and lip, to kick his foot as hard as he could into Sunshine’s knee. It was the wrong knee, but it was close enough because it knocked the breath out of Sunshine and had him toppling over. Patrick got out of the way and swung himself onto Sunshine’s back like Pete had shown him, pulled his head back and slammed it into the ground. It wasn’t hard enough to kill him, but it disoriented him long enough that the crowd started to count. They got to six before Sunshine rolled over on top of Patrick and slammed him into the floor with his full body weight. Pete imagined that he heard something crunch. Andy squeezed him and Pete pretended that the sick feeling in his stomach was the steel bar that was Andy’s arm instead of panic. Patrick let out an agonized cry and Pete went limp for just a moment. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.  
 _Let me out_ , Sandman demanded, his voice honeysuckle sweet, _Let me out, Pete._  
“Don’t,” Andy pinched his arm, “Don’t fucking do it. This belongs to Patrick. Fucking believe in him, asshole. Let him protect himself.”  
Sunshine punched him again and Pete closed his eyes, turned his head into Andy’s shoulder. He couldn’t watch the beating that took place after that.  
The crowd started to count and Pete made himself look, take in Patrick flat and bloody on the mat and no one there to help him  
“Four!” The crowd yelled, “Five -”  
Patrick, arms shaky, pushed himself onto his elbows.  
“Stay down, kid,” Sunshine yelled, loud above the crowd.  
“No,” Patrick spit out a mouthful of blood and climbed to his knees, kneeling on the mat and catching his breath. His face, the side Pete could see, was pained but determined.  
 _Just stay down_ , Pete wanted to yell. Instead, he stayed quiet, clung to Andy’s arm, and bit his lip against the pained moan he wanted to make when Sunshine kicked Patrick in the stomach, lifted him off his hands and knees and threw him another few feet. He hit the ropes and Andy pulled Pete away from the very edge of the mat, forced him away so he didn’t jump in. Pete wanted to hate Andy, wanted to hate the fucking world, every single person in the room - even fucking Patrick, in that moment. He wanted to hate _everything_.  
Patrick used the ropes to drag himself up, breathing hard and bleeding even harder. He swayed a little, maybe dizzy from slamming his head into the ground when he’d been kicked again, and threw himself at Sunshine without even hesitating. Sunshine caught him and Pete closed his eyes again. He made himself open them, made himself watch Sunshine absolutely beat the shit out of Patrick - any piece of advice or last minute trick child’s play in the face of Sunshine’s bigger, older, more experienced hands. He’d let that happen. He’d let Patrick into the ring, knowing that Patrick wouldn’t be able to win. He’d done that to Patrick. _His_ Patrick, and he’d done that to him.  
The crowd started to count, less excited now that it was obvious that Patrick wasn’t going to be able to pull an underdog move. Maybe they were finally realizing that Sunshine was beating the fuck out of a teenager still recovering from torture. They reached seven before Patrick was heaving himself up, forcing his body to work.  
“Just -” Sunshine stomped on Patrick’s back, forcing him back to the mat, “Stay -” He did it again, ramming his toe into Patrick’s side, “Down!”  
Patrick curled up to protect his stomach from Sunshine’s boot and weakly grabbed at his ankle. He did something, pushed just right or pulled in a direction that had Sunshine stumbling again and Patrick was able to wrap his arms around his leg. Sunshine didn’t bother pulling his punches, slamming his fist into Patrick’s head with enough force to echo. Patrick went completely limp for a terrifying second and then suddenly wrenched Sunshine’s leg in opposite directions. There was a pop. Sunshine screamed and went down, falling on top of Patrick. Patrick rolled away weakly, stopping just a few inches away from where Sunshine was cursing over his fucked knee, trying to move it back into place while also keeping an eye on the way Patrick was forcing himself to his feet, panting hard.  
“Patrick!” Someone yelled from behind Pete - and the noise of the crowd suddenly was overwhelming, a loud cheering and howling. People behind him were screaming for Patrick to fight - some sort of chant that was being mainly led by Travie and who could only be Brendon.  
“Keep on keepin’ on!” Travie shouted, voice joined by possibly Gabe and definitely Joe.  
“Even with the feeling that you’re gonna keep losing, you gotta come back strong!” Brendon screamed, like the loudness of his voice was directly responsible for how deeply it penetrated Patrick.  
“Come on, P-Stump!” Victoria joined in, or maybe she’d been yelling it the whole time, just like the rest of their friends.  
Pete, since the fight had started, hadn’t said a word outside of talking to Andy.  
“Do you see, yet?” Andy asked, watching the way Patrick lost his footing and fell back onto his stomach, only to immediately start getting up again. “Everyone else thinks he can do this. Why don’t you?”  
“Because he’s always needed me,” Pete squeezed Andy’s arm, terrified. Patrick looked so fucking tiny, bloody and broken and dizzy and _standing_. Patrick was still standing. “And what do I do if he doesn’t need me to protect him, anymore?”  
“Just because you don’t need to protect him,” Andy sighed, “Doesn’t mean that you aren’t _needed_. Patrick has always needed you for more than just making sure he wasn’t hurt. Open your eyes, Pete. Right now, he’s protecting _you_.”  
Pete caught his breath, really making himself look. Patrick met his eye, for just a second, and his face seemed to - shift. Move from a mask of pain and nerves to something more concrete, more determined. He dropped into a fighting stance, similar to Andy’s but just a little wrong. Sunshine, with his knee back in place but now weakened, found his footing again.  
Patrick didn’t look afraid, blood in one eye forcing it closed and his nose crooked. One of Sunshine’s punches must have broken it. His hair was stained bloody, not an inch of his face safe from wounds, but he didn’t fear Sunshine’s next attack.  
Sunshine rammed his shoulder into Patrick’s chest, because Patrick couldn’t dodge it in time, and, this time, Patrick didn’t get up until the crowd had reached nine.  
“Why the _fuck_ ,” Sunshine got a good grip in Patrick’s hair, Patrick having only been able to get to his knees before he’d been unable to get any farther up, “Are you getting _up_ , kid?”  
He yanked Patrick down and kneed him too high up to be safe, “This isn’t a death match! Just fucking stay down!”  
Patrick groaned, rolling away from Sunshine’s feet and forcing himself up to his arms, again. Pete could see him shaking, could see the tears fighting at the corners of his eyes and the way he had to fight just to keep from passing out. His eyes weren’t golden though, just a bright blue dark with pain. He was close to a concussion, if he didn’t already have one, and one more good punch would be the death of him.  
“I fucking,” Patrick sobbed out, pulling his knees under him one at a time and slowly pushing himself onto them, “Told you, asshole...You insulted...my friends,”  
He got one foot under him and used his knee and one of the ropes to pull himself to his feet, legs shaking like fucking noodles until he locked them up, “And I’m going to kick your ass.”  
Sunshine made an angry noise, took three steps forward and reared his arm back to hit Patrick again.  
“Patrick,” Pete found himself saying, voice unsteady. He couldn’t believe what he was saying, _Sandman_ couldn’t believe what he was saying, but, “Patrick, kick his fucking ass!”  
Sunshine stopped, looking over his shoulder at Pete was a surprised, annoyed glare. He hadn’t had his eyes off Patrick for more than a second when Patrick launched himself onto his chest, wrapping his legs around Sunshine’s waist and locking his arms around his neck. It was a headlock Pete recognized as something he’d seen Joe do a number of times and he’d learned it before he’d even joined the Young Bloods. It was effective, if Patrick could hold it long enough to actually restrict the oxygen flow.  
Sunshine pin wheeled his arms and then grabbed at Patrick, his yelling muffled by Patrick’s shirt. Patrick held on like his life depended on it, and it kind of did. He only seemed to get tighter, constricting every ounce of strength he still had into his arms even while Sunshine rained blows on his sides and back, managing to smash his fist into Patrick’s face again. Patrick wouldn’t let go.  
“Fucking do it, Patrick!” Pete found himself yelling, feeling Andy letting him go. “You can fucking do this!”  
“Get him, Patrick!” Andy cupped his hands around his mouth, like he wasn’t closer than nearly anyone else in the room, “Show him what you’re made of!”  
Patrick didn’t respond, but Pete could see that he was hearing them. Sunshine’s arms were getting weaker and the crowd was getting louder - louder - louder. It was like the air was vibrating, like Pete could hear the people in the mess watching the action through a lens and screen, and it was all around him - every inch of him covered in Patrick’s name.  
Watching Sunshine finally stumble to his knees wasn’t climactic as much as it was - freeing. It was a slow progress, Sunshine letting his knees go out under him until Patrick could actually stand on his own two feet, his arms still locked around Sunshine’s throat and head like a dog’s jaw. Patrick followed Sunshine when he finally lost his battle and went out like a light, dropping him flat on his back but refusing to give him the shock of a fall that could knock him back into waking.  
The crowd started to count, soft first and then louder and louder until Pete was counting too, “Six - Seven - Eight - Nine -”  
Sunshine twitched, his eyes snapping open, but it was too late. ‘Ten’ echoed, and Pete was racing into the ring, catching Patrick when his own knees finally failed him.  
“Patrick!” Pete couldn’t help but laugh, right in Patrick’s fucked up, bloody face, “Patrick, you actually did it! You actually fucking -”  
“Shut up,” Patrick grabbed Pete’s face, two of his fingers obviously broken, and three more a little more suspect on the other hand, and dragged him into a kiss. Pete hugged him close, neither of them worrying about the blood or the pain, and kissed him back.  
The crowd continued to cheer, as loud as they’d been when ‘ten’ had gone up, but they were back to being inconsequential, back to being nowhere near as important as Patrick was in his arms.  
“You’re okay,” Pete finally pressed his face to Patrick’s shoulder. He felt his eyes start to burn like acid rain and he didn’t realize that he was crying until it was too late. He hid his face in Patrick’s shoulder and shook with sobs. “You’re _okay,_ ”  
“I told you I’d be fine,” Patrick joked, voice high with pain and a little faded. “Didn’t you believe in me?”  
“Fuck yes, I did,” Pete sobbed, laughing again, “I didn’t doubt you for a fucking second, ‘trick.”  
“Liar,” Patrick accused, but he was smiling, too.  
“You need to get cleaned up.” Pete cleared his throat and scrubbed at his face, “You’re all fucked up, babe.”  
“Don’t call me babe, asshole,” Patrick pulled him back into a soft kiss by his hair, his fingers too weak or unable to grip hard enough to actually hurt at all. Pete didn’t let him distract him too much though.  
“Seriously, ‘trick.” He moved so he wasn’t hugging Patrick so much as supporting him, “We’re taking you to the infirmary,”  
“Wait,” Patrick stopped him, looking around until he’d found Sunshine, sitting on the mat with a purple face and bloodshot eyes. He was panting, great heaves of breath, but he didn’t look murderous. “You. You promised me something.”  
“A contact,” Sunshine nodded, rubbing at his throat, “Should have known you’d pull a dirty trick like that.”  
“This isn’t the sands and neither of us are coyotes.” Patrick said with no shame, “Fair’s not fair, right?”  
Sunshine cracked a smile. “Fair’s not fair, alright. You’ve got your fucking contact. I’ll give Andy the heads’ up.”  
Pete nodded and motioned for Andy to enter the ring - which had been surrounded by a cheering crowd but hadn’t been breached yet except for Pete - and started to move Patrick again. Again, Patrick stopped him.  
“That’s not all.” Patrick tried to wipe some of the blood off his face and, for the first time that Pete could remember in over two years, didn’t look close to panic that he was bathed in it. It would come later, once he was cleaning it all off, but for now the adrenaline was too high in him to let him panic. “I want an apology,”  
“An apology?” Sunshine laughed, “Fucking arrogant shit,”  
“You owe them fucking apologies for saying that shit,” Patrick demanded, “All of them have been through enough without dicks like you rubbing it in their faces that Better Living hurt them. They lost literally everything. _Everything._ They know their names, and that’s it. They don’t have families to mourn, homes to lose, people to remember. Nothing. It was all taken. This is their home now. This is _Pete’s_ faction. The only Better Living scum here are the fuckers like Pedicone who are more coward than rebel. If you have a problem with that, I don’t care. I won’t stay down. Not ever. Not when they need me as much as I need them.”  
Andy, having come to stand next to them, found Pete’s fingertips and brushed them with his own. Pete took the comfort with a smug smile.  
Fuck, Patrick was beautiful. Even like he was, covered in blood and broken bones, even with Benzedrine watching he and Sandman from the corner of the room, shadowed in darkness that had never been there before, Patrick was fucking _beautiful_.  
Sunshine looked Patrick over and, maybe seeing what Pete saw, gave in.  
“I’m sorry, Pete.” He grit his teeth. “And I’m sorry I called your friends spies.”  
“Thank you.” Patrick sighed, going a little loose in Pete’s arms. He offered his hand to Sunshine, “Come on. You got me pretty good, man, but Snoop should look at your knee. Sorry I wrenched it like that.”  
Sunshine blinked, giving his hand a suspicious look. “Just because I apologized doesn’t mean I want to be _friends_ , Stump.”  
“I don’t make friends with fucking dickheads like you,” Patrick rolled his eyes, hand still hanging between them, “But we’re on the same side. You’re not my friend, man. You’re my partner. Take my fucking hand and let’s go make Snoop give us something that’ll knock our asses out the right way so we can get back to business, tomorrow.”  
Sunshine laughed, shook his head, and took Patrick’s hand. He pulled himself up more than he used Patrick for support, but it was the thought that counted, in Pete’s opinion.  
-  
 _Benzedrine kissed him and Sandman didn’t quite know what to do. It was a hard kiss, angry and desperate and fucking lonely. He didn’t think about it, just yanked Benzedrine closer and kissed him back. They were both so angry, but Sandman didn’t know **why** he was so angry, or why Benzedrine was so angry at him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t stop to think about it. Pete slept on, Patrick curled into him and bandaged up, and Benzedrine was taking advantage of the fact that they were both too exhausted to wake up to harass Sandman._  
 _“I fucking hate you so much,” Benzedrine hissed, “I wish you’d remember just so I could rip your heart out,”_  
“I hope I never remember,” Sandman snapped, yanking at his hair and knocking his stupid fucking hat off to the side, “I hope I never remember and you’re fucking stuck here, and you never get your revenge for whatever the hell I did -”  
Benzedrine bit his lip in a savage kiss, shoving him into the closest of the two beds. He pressed his hands up Sandman’s hospital gown without asking and Sandman was both angered and pleased. He didn’t bother unbuttoning the buttons of Benzedrine’s shirt, just ripped it open and let the buttons fly where they may.  
 _“I hate you so much,” Benzedrine bit at his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, his hands tracing up Sandman’s thighs and hips, not bothering to tease._  
 _“No, you don’t,” Sandman taunted, “And that’s what you really hate,”_  
 _“Fuck you,” Benzedrine sunk his teeth into Sandman’s skin and dragged his nails down one thigh, gripping Sandman’s dick with the other. Sandman gasped, arched and tried not to think about anything._  
 _“If you insist,” Sandman caught Benzedrine’s hair in his hand and dragged his face back for another hard kiss. Sharp teeth and long tongues and dripping shadows would have made any humans uncomfortable, pained. Not them._  
 _Fucking Benzedrine was like teasing at his memories, memories Sandman wasn’t so sure he wanted anymore._  
 _He told himself that it was because, whoever he’d been, if he’d been willing to submit to Benzedrine like Benzedrine was implying he had been, if he actually had given a fuck about humanity like Benzedrine had hinted, who he was now wanted no part of it. He didn’t want to recognize that, maybe, he didn’t want to remember because that would mean that Benzedrine would stop trying to make him remember through moments like this._  
 _-_  
“I got in contact with the Dreamboys.” Andy mentioned a week later.  
“Dreamboys?” Pete frowned, looking up from the book he’d been writing notes in.  
“The doctors Sunshine had contacts with.” Andy cleared up for him, “They’ve agreed to have a look at The Kids. They’ll be here in two days.”  
“Do we need to send a welcome party?”  
Andy sighed and looked at his clipboard, “Just, and I quote, ‘Booze and pretty ladies.’”  
“Let’s send Victoria,” Pete decided, “And she can set that shit straight. Booze comes after they look at The Kids.”  
“Speaking of irrecoverable injuries, Bill finished the prototype.”  
“It worked?”  
“Like a charm. Checkmate did great.”  
“Checkmate?” Pete raised an eyebrow.  
“Shut up,” Andy blushed, “It was cute. The rat is fucking cute, okay? Shut up.”  
“But he’s okay?”  
“He had an old wound on his tail. The scar tissue was reduced. The nanobots are programed for his DNA now, but once we perfect it, we should be able to calibrate the actual machine to whoever we need it for with a few drops of their blood.”  
“And we have enough material?” Pete asked, excited.  
“For one machine, yes,” Andy nodded, “We’d have to raid another institution for more materials if you wanted more than that.”  
“What’s the timetable on it?”  
“The worse the injury, the longer the time. Right now, we’d guess about a week for, let’s say, a broken bone. Open wounds would take a little less than that.”  
“Brain injuries?” Pete frowned thoughtfully, setting his pen aside.  
“Depends. Right now, a concussion would take a few hours. Anything more serious than that is...purely guessing.” Andy shrugged, “The important bit is that we have a working healing pod, though. Even if it’s rodent sized.”  
“Keep going,” Pete grinned, “We’ll have it up on schedule, at this rate.”  
“Maybe a little earlier.” Andy sighed, “Things are beginning to look up, Pete.”  
“Don’t jinx us,” Pete scoffed, but he couldn’t help but agree.  
-  
Gabe and Patrick sitting together and eating wasn’t something Pete had expected to see for a long time, but he wasn’t going to complain.  
“Hey, guys,” He settled across from them, a bowl of broth and a slice of desert bread in front of him, “What’s up?”  
“Nosey,” Patrick accused, grinning.  
“What, a guy can’t see two of his favorite people eating and decide to join them?” Pete defended himself, laughing.  
“Not if it’s you,” Gabe pointed out, popping one of Patrick’s grapes into his mouth when he wasn’t looking, “Especially because you’ll talk to Andy about it.”  
“To be fair,” Pete broke a piece of bread off and soaked it in broth, “I tell Andy basically everything.”  
“Besties,” Andy intoned, plopping next to him, Carden right next to him. Soon, the table was full and Gabe was laughing at something The Butcher was saying, Patrick squished between Gabe, Joe, and Vicky-T simultaneously. The bruises from the fight last month were nearly all faded and there hadn’t been much lasting physical damage. One of his fingers had been fucked even beyond what Benzedrine could quickly heal, and the cast was colorful. It would come off soon, ish, when Snoop had the chance to see to it. The Doctor and his foul mouthed companion hadn’t been able to cure The Kids like what would have been ideal, but they’d managed to both return some of the lost sensations and stimuli and stabilize the loss. Pete didn’t know how they did it, but he was grateful all the same. Spencer’s eyes were a really pretty blue, when they weren’t milky white, and watching Jon’s face the first time he’d been able to hear the rat colony in the wall a couple miles away had been like a birthday present and a surprise party at once. Brendon had taking to randomly tasting things, just to see if they were strong enough for him to be able to appreciate them, and Dallon would touch the tips of his fingers together just to feel them every once in a while. Brent had started to spend most of his time in the tunnel gardens, sniffing plants and breathing in the stronger scents he could pick up now. Ryan wasn’t so depressed, and wasn’t projecting onto the others as much anymore, now that the lot of them were relatively happy with their lots. They weren’t perfect, not by a long shot, but none of them had wanted perfect, anyway.  
"Where're the kids?" He heard The Butcher ask, which really meant ‘Where’s Sisky-biz?’  
“With Bob and Brian,” Patrick answered, “Brian’s taken to them, lately.”  
“If only he’d take to helping me more often,” Andy lamented, “He’s nearly on par with Salt and Pepa. Amazing business sense.”  
“If he asks for a job, I’ll send him your way,” Pete promised.  
Andy scoffed at him, “Bullshit, you’re already planning on putting he and Bob on Patrick and keeping Joe as my assistant.”  
“You guys work great together,” Pete smirked, to which Joe laughed.  
“We kick each other’s asses until the shit gets done, you mean,” Joe fought Gabe off of Patrick’s food because Patrick was distracted with something Carden was saying. Chizz yelled something about wanting to visit Butch next time they hit the desert and it distracted Pete just long enough for Matt to reach across the table and steal part of his bread.  
Andy, shaking his head, replaced the piece with a few quick fork flicks in Matt’s direction.  
“Speaking of Bob and Brian,” Nate jumped up and waved until the whole table had turned to find the two forenamed men, surrounded by pre-teens and a few teenagers. Jeremy trailed behind him, Hayley holding his hand and talking animatedly about something or other to a rapt trio of brothers-and-friend. Tyler and Smaller Josh had managed to actually climb Dallon and Brent was helping support them so they didn’t topple when they walked, but the other Kids were free to run and jump until they’d joined the already too-crowded table. If Pete kept adding to his friends, they’d have to find a bigger place to eat.  
Sisky met the table first, shoving until he’d found a place in The Butcher’s lap, where he was given the rest of his food without a fight, while Jeremy led Hayley, her new friends, and the Alexes to a table nearby. Tyler draped himself over Patrick’s shoulder and looked around at the table, wide eyed, “Guess what!”  
“What?” Joe managed to move over just enough that Smaller Josh could squeeze in and find a place half on Joe and half on Patrick.  
“Bob plays the drums!”  
The table went quiet, because when one of the Linda Vista rescues learned something about themselves that had previously been forgotten it was always a big deal, but Bob had never been the name attached to the ‘Guess what!’ before.  
“And he’s great!”  
Patrick got Tyler to slide off of him and into Gabe so he could stand up and look over the sea of friends to Bob, who looked not quite amused but not upset either. Pete had come to recognize it as his ‘I’m content’ face. Bob wasn’t the most expressive of people, unless he was angry and, even then, it was just a vague hint of emotion to his features that gave it away.  
“Bob, that’s fucking awesome!” Patrick congratulated him, “Will you play for us, sometime?”  
“Maybe,” Bob answered after a moment’s thought, “It was an accident. I was just showing Josh a different way to hold the sticks. I liked it, though.”  
“He’s so badass,” Smaller Josh sighed, “I want to be like Bob when I grow up.”  
“Us, too.” Spencer commented from the seat Chizz had given up to him. Spencer was probably Bill’s team’s collective favorite, just because his eyes were fucking sapphires and his glasses magnified them. Not to mention the sass he gave off in waves let him fit the desert crew-turned-Young Bloods like a glove.  
“He’s pretty cool,” Brian teased, and Pete watched the slight tilt to Bob’s lips get just a little bit bigger - looking like the beginning of a smile.  
-  
Sandman stood at the door to the room, yellowing but still vaguely white.  
 _Are you ready to open them all?_ Pete asked, sitting cross legged on the bed.  
 _No_ , Sandman shook his head. He pressed his clawed hand to the metal of the door, and there was a steady, creepy tap-tap-tap on the other side, like someone was asking for entrance. It wasn’t Benzedrine, because Patrick wasn’t in the physical world with Pete, so Sandman dropped his hand.  
 _It’s okay,_ Pete promised, _We don’t have to. Not yet._  
 _Maybe not ever,_ Sandman admitted.  
 _Maybe not ever._ Pete agreed. Sandman set on his own bed and they faced each other, mirror images with just minor differences to show how different they could be.  
 _Or, maybe…_ Pete smiled.

Sandman finished for him. _We’ll see._  
-  
“I went to the surface,” Patrick told him from across his office. Andy had allowed Patrick his own desk in the room, so he could do the work Pete had given him. He was in charge of the motorbaby port now and, with Dr. D’s warning that the year’s wait after the Leathermouth Event was almost up, there was going to be a lot of work and a lot of paper involved. Their first group would probably be three times the size of what they were used to taking in and Andy had given Patrick the responsibility of lesson plans to teach them as much as they could in the little bit of time they had them before they were sent off. Their last group were mostly too old to send off now, and the ones who weren’t were refusing to leave, so that left the classroom completely empty for the new group set to be collected within the next few weeks. It was a lot of pressure on Patrick, but Pete knew he could handle it.  
The surface, on the other hand, was a little surprising.  
“Already?” Pete smiled, “That’s awesome, Lunchbox. What happened?”  
“Bob showed me how to shoot a zap. Disashi went over it with he and Brian, and they were both naturals, so we’re pretty sure they’ve had something to do with them before. I killed a Drac.”  
“Fuck yeah,” Pete smirked, “That’s my Pattycakes.”  
“I was thinking,” Patrick hesitated, looking from the paper he’d been reading over to Pete and then back, “Next time you go into the desert, I could come with you.”  
“Really?” Pete set the latest report from Bill down - all clear, so far, except for a minor threat that Carden and Chizz’s newly accepted desert-husband, Butch, were taking care of - and gave him his full attention. “You want to leave the walls?”  
“Yeah,” Patrick looked at him fully, too, “I mean. I’ve never left them, not really. I don’t want to let anything control me, anymore, not even those fucking walls.”  
Pete thought about it, and nodded, “Yeah, ‘trick. Next time I go to pick up some shit for Bill, you can come, too.”  
“Cool,” Patrick smiled and went back to his work. Pete picked the report back up, a grin on his face.  
A few months later, watching Patrick feel the burn of the sun on his face for the first time was like feeling it himself, all over again. Andy and Joe were equally amused and the four of them, maybe, spent a few hours longer in the sands than they really needed to.  
-  
“I got this for you,” Pete mentioned, the next time he caught Bob alone. He held out a small plastic box with a small flick-lock on it, big enough to hold a charm. There was a hole through it, stringed with a strong piece of metal chain that Pete had tested himself.  
“Um,” Bob took the offering and looked it over, unsure, “Thank you.”  
“It’s for your charm,” Pete laughed, pointing at the mismatched chain around Bob’s neck. “Patrick said you were afraid the wood might break, so I found that for it. You just put the charm and chain in the plastic box. It’s clear, so you can still see it, but it won’t be so easy to lose or break if it’s in there. You can still wear it, but it’s protected.”  
Bob didn’t say anything, but Pete could tell that it was more out of shock than anything else.  
“Thank you,” Bob repeated, with a little more meaning.  
Pete shrugged, smiling. The five foot rule was still in place, but he felt like Sandman and Ravenous were slowly coming to an understanding. Benzedrine was a bridge between them, like Patrick was for Bob and Pete, but Pete didn’t want Bob to feel like Pete didn’t want to try to be more than just acquaintances. They’d known each other for over a year now, and Bob was still improving every day, just like Brian and The Kids, even if he was going at a slower pace. Pete figured, they both loved Patrick, and they both hated Better Living, not to mention the fact that they were two of three of the only people in the world who had AIs. What more did they need to be friends?  
“No problem, man. Come to the party this weekend, okay? I’m gonna try to convince Pattycakes to sing. Have you heard him sing? Voice of an angel.” he fell into step beside Bob, opposite sides of the hallway, but walking together.  
“I haven’t.” Bob shook his head. “But that wouldn’t surprise me.”  
“It’s crazy.” Pete smiled, looking down the hall thoughtfully, “Where are we going, by the way?”  
Bob cracked a small smile, more than Pete had seen in a while and the first he’d seen without Patrick, The Kids, or Brian next to him. “I was going to help clean the music room, since Brian and Patrick are both teaching today.”  
“Andy’s helping Snoop and Bill, isn’t he?” Pete thought out loud, nodding. Usually, Patrick handled cleaning the music room. It had become a pet project of his, to learn every instrument they had in there, and he was making most of his headway on Sunday, when he could practice as much as he wanted while he cleaned.  
“Yeah,” Bob nodded, “Brendon, Tyler, and Josh volunteered to clean for him, so I’m going to make sure they actually clean.”  
“I’ll tag along,” Pete invited himself, “We can threaten to tell Patrick when they inevitably get distracted with the oboe or something.”  
Bob nodded, still smiling just a little, and they made their way to the music room together. By the time they left, the instruments clean and the oboe being passed around the three of them like a particularly interesting frog, Bob had placed the charm carefully in the plastic box and hung it around his neck.  
-  
 _“_ Insolent - _” Ravenous screamed, the shadow that he’d chosen to show himself as growing to the ceiling._  
 _“_ Shut up _,” Sandman sneered at him, “_ You’re always so big and bag, you big shadow! I could take you in seconds, _”_  
 _“_ You have never defeated me in battle _,” Ravenous fumed, spreading out to cover the walls of the room. Sandman wasn’t intimidated, his own shadows beginning to spread out._  
 _Benzedrine, sitting on Pete’s bed, a hand over Pete’s eyes to keep him sleeping and a big smile on his face, sighed._  
 _“_ You’re both being children _,” He decided, “_ There’s no need to fight _.”_  
 _“_ He doesn’t respect you, _” Ravenous complained, “_ He speaks as if he is worth anything other than the ground you step upon, Great Commander, _”_  
 _“_ Ravenous, _” Benzedrine practically coo’ed, stroking Pete’s sleeping face with gentle fingers, “_ Don’t fret, my loyal soldier. Sandman doesn’t remember anything, but he will pay once he does. _”_  
 _Sandman gave them both the bird, using both hands just to show the intensity with which he wanted to say ‘fuck you’ to them both._  
 _Ravenous shrunk down, slithered across the floor like the snake he was, and stopped under Benzedrine’s feet, “_ What if he doesn’t remember before Xibalba - _”_  
 _Benzedrine cleared his throat and, sensing that he’d said too much, much to Sandman’s frustration, Ravenous rephrased._  
 _“_ What if he doesn’t recall in time? Xibalba will not let him live, if he doesn’t remember and appease him, _”_  
 _“_ Don’t worry, Ravenous _,” Benzedrine laughed, tapping his foot against the shadow under it, “_ He’ll remember before time is up. Isn’t that right, Sandman? Three years is plenty of time to unlock that door. _”_  
 _Sandman gave him the bird again and shut his curtains to them. He was going to kill Pete for falling asleep on Patrick while he and Bob were working together._  
-  
Benzedrine, when he wasn’t fucking insane, was actually kind of doting, Pete discovered over time. For all the violence and sex that seemed to mark Benzedrine and his relationship with Sandman, Benzedrine seemed to have developed a fondness for Pete that might have been influenced by Sandman taking Pete’s appearance and Patrick’s own feelings for him. Either way, there was something about waking up to golden eyes watching over him that made him feel both extremely creeped out and protected. Pete didn’t know what he’d done to collect himself such a diverse group of people willing to kill for him, but there it was.  
“Benzedrine?” He blinked his eyes open, trying to get the sleep out of his pupils, “Is something wrong?”  
For just a moment, Pete thought he could see blood on Benzedrine’s face, his fingers and clothes, but it was just his imagination.  
“Not tired.”  
Pete frowned, sitting up, “Is something wrong with Patrick?”  
“He is tired.” Benzedrine shrugged, watching him with that never-ending grin on his face. Even over a year and a half with that grin directed at him couldn’t remove how seriously creepy it was. It was just a reminder to Pete, though, that Benzedrine was dangerous and unpredictable. His fondness for Pete wasn’t quite like Sandman’s love of Patrick. Sandman could never hurt Patrick, and he was hesitant to cause Pete extreme harm, too. Benzedrine was neither of those things. If Pete got in Benzedrine’s way, he didn’t doubt that Benzedrine would snap him like a twig, and Patrick was nothing more than a body Benzedrine had found amusing. But, at moments like this, when Benzedrine was watching over Pete, giving off a distinct feeling of guardianship, when Pete let himself forget that Benzedrine wasn’t sane, let Sandman’s own feelings for Benzedrine take over and let himself imagine that Benzedrine felt for him like he felt for Sandman, it was almost like Pete loved him. That grin helped to keep Pete from falling into a pretend world, where Benzedrine would ever change from who he _was_ , just for Pete - or even Sandman.  
Pete thought the answer over, and didn’t push. Patrick wasn’t fighting Benzedrine, he could tell by the relaxed set to Benzedrine’s shoulders. More than likely, he’d had a nightmare and Benzedrine had swooped in to keep him safe from the memories.  
He tilted his head, just enough, and Benzedrine took the invitation to swoop down and kiss him, giggling a little madly against his lips. It was hard, bruising, but not painful. Pete wouldn’t go so far as to call it _caring_ , but it _was_ careful. Benzedrine’s touch was rougher than Patrick’s, but more focused and confident, if rarely sexual. Benzedrine didn’t often come to Pete for sex, mainly because whatever passed for sex between he and Sandman would break Pete, but it hadn’t been unheard of in the relationship they shared - one consisting of four different personalities locked within two bodies.  
This wasn’t one of those times, but Benzedrine still took the chance to exert his claim on Pete, kissing him until he had to push him away to breathe, and then trailing his teeth down Pete’s neck in a number of dark marks. Benzedrine was possessive with Pete, with Sandman, and even with Patrick on the rare occasions where they shared their bodies, and Sandman was the same way with Patrick and Benzedrine, so Pete didn’t much mind the marks until they started to hurt too much.  
“Sleep,” Benzedrine finally ordered, when Pete had begun to shift uncomfortably, “Maybe Patrick will be awake the next time you wake up.”  
“Are you leaving?” Pete yawned, pulling the blanket up to his noses and settling back into the bed.  
“No,” Benzedrine shrugged, “Not tonight.”  
Pete nodded and slept, still feeling golden eyes on him, filled with the mockery of affection that Benzedrine could ever really feel for a human.  
-  
“Pete,” Andy didn’t slam the door open so much as force it open with restrained force.  
“Andy,” Pete half stood, “What,”  
“It worked.”  
“It?”  
“The fucking healing pod, you idiot!” Andy laughed, leaning against the doorway, “We finished the machine last night and Snoop let us put one of his patients in. It worked!”  
Pete stood up hard enough for his chair to move back a few inches.  
“Andy!” Pete came around the desk and met him halfway in a hard, excited hug, “You did it!”  
“We’re going to run a few of the high risk patients through it, see how it goes with bigger injuries, but - fuck! We actually did it!” Andy laughed into his shoulder, sounding shocked and relieved all at once. He’d been gone, now, for nearly three weeks, along with Bill and Snoop. They’d been working on the final machine the whole time, while Joe and Beyoncé had taken over for Andy and Carden had worked with Greta to cover Snoop’s absence. Bill had given The Butcher the responsibility of reporting to Pete, so he hadn’t seen any of them in too long and it was almost as much of a relief to know that they could rest, now, as it was to know that - after nearly five years of research and hard work - they’d completed their task.  
The Young Bloods had a working, safe healing pod.  
“Can I see it?”  
“Fuck yes,” Andy nodded, “And then I’m going to find Joe and Beyoncé and rub it in Joe’s face that we finished it within a month and give Beyoncé her money for saying we’d finish it within two, and I’m not even mad about it.”  
Pete laughed, feeling as exhilarated for Andy as Andy was for himself. It was the best thing in the world, to see someone he cared about genuinely happy.  
-  
The first time Pete had had the thought that he wanted to do more than just keep surviving the same way that every Young Blood leader before him had, he’d just returned from the desert with so many different ideas in his head - all in Mikeyway’s voice - that he hadn’t been able to really think them all through. He’d focused on the motorbaby station, because that had been something he’d wanted to do immediately, and was the first thing he’d done when he’d proven his right to the chair.  
Now, with the motorbabies on the move again and his own faction finally recovered from being rocked by Patrick’s kidnapping two years ago, with the Pop Princess faction finally stabilizing after Catastrophe and the Headmistress’ desertion and Maja and Rihanna returned home, with the world around him seeming to calm down enough for Pete to catch his breath, he figured that it was time to create his own boat-rocking wave.  
“Hey, Andy,” Pete grinned at his next council meeting, “Do you remember the first time I walked to you about opening a motorbaby port?”  
“Pete,” Andy sighed, “Now isn’t the time to think back to our wild youth.”  
Patrick, sitting on Pete’s other side, grinned. “Wild youth? You’re like twenty four, Andy.”  
“Age is not the point I was making,” Andy shook his head.  
“No, seriously,” Pete spoke up, pouting, “Do you remember when I first brought it up?”  
“How could I forget?” Andy raised an eyebrow. Next to him, Beyoncé set the file she’d been reading down, having already heard Pete’s thoughts on the matter the night before. Travie, Gabe, Bill, Big Sean, and Shakira stopped the talking between themselves while Snoop continued to play with his communicator, texting and reading in equal measure.  
“You kind of told me you wanted to radically change our policy on outside interference,”  
“And what if I were to tell you that we’re gonna do it again?”  
“Create a second port?” Andy frowned, “We don’t have teachers for that shit, Pete, what,”  
“I mean,” Pete leaned forward, still grinning, “What did I say after I told you about the motorbaby station?”  
“You said some bullshit about _uniting the factions!_ ” Andy caught on mid-word and his voice changed from fond but distracted memory, to outrage. “Pete!”  
“That’s right, kids.” Pete smiled, “We’re done playing cat and mouse with Better Living. It’s time to bring in a dog.”  
“Or a coyote,” Beyoncé smiled, biting and amused.  
“Definitely a coyote,” Pete agreed. “We’ve been at this impasse for too long, I think. Better Living’s bigger than us, stronger than us, but they can’t stomp us out. We outnumber them, we’ve got the advantage of numerous spies and fighting styles, but we can’t topple them. Wanna know why?”  
“Because we’re separate,” Patrick answered, looking at him curiously.  
“That’s right, Pattycakes,” Pete nodded, “Because they’re united, and we’re separate. It’s easy to keep knocking us over, because what the fuck good is an advantage in numbers if we’re all separate?”  
“So, what? Hostile takeovers?” Gabe frowned, “I don’t think that’ll go over well, Pete.”  
“Hostile takeovers? Fuck no,” Pete scoffed, “Think more...diplomat.”  
“You want us to talk our way into a conglomerate?” Shakira asked skeptically, “That’s putting a lot of faith in the other factions.”  
“What’s a little more faith,” Pete shrugged, “Maybe they’re sick of staying the same, too. We won’t know until we try.”  
“What was that about coyotes, though?” Travie squeezed the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache, “Man, tell me you don’t want to -”  
“Bring the crews in on this? Fuck yeah, I do.” Pete nodded, “I’m talking a city-desert alliance. A full scale attack on Better Living. A final assault on the headquarters in the middle of Battery City. We all know this is Ground Zero - we take that building and the factory next to it down, and we cripple BL, worldwide. We take control of Battery City, we take Better Living down.”  
“Pete, there are thousands of them,” Big Sean shook his head, “Thousands of them. Maybe a million.”  
“So we take them out.” Pete set back, his grin not fading for a minute. “We can do this, guys. What’s the point of doing what we’re doing, right now? Australia is gonna fill up eventually. We’ve got every country around the world sending their kids there. What do we do when Better Living gets through to them? They will. We’re more powerful than we’ve been since the Helium Wars first began. They didn’t fight _together_ when they tried to rebel, and all it took to beat them was bombing the edges of the city into Zone 1 and building the walls up. They lasted a few decades longer after that, but it was because no one would work together that really lost them the war. Say what we want about hive minds, but it _works_ for them. We don’t need to connect our minds to a single entity like the Dracs do, but planning something that utilizes all of us…”  
“Speaking of single entities,” Snoop spoke up, finally looking up from his communicator, “If what we think about the pigs’ is true, and they really are a hive mind connected to one entity, and we take the headquarters…”  
“Then we can destroy the entity.” Bill followed. “If Dracs work like my nanobots, then taking out the single entity takes out the hive mind, takes out all of the soldier bots.”  
“So if we take out the entity, it would drop the Dracs.” Shakira shook her head, “Or, at least, throw them into disarray.”  
“Speakers,” Patrick hesitated, “If we filled some of the far tunnels with speakers and lured Dracs down and blasted music, the speakers would disorient them. We could lead masses of them straight down dead end tunnels, into the bottomless pits.”  
“It’s possible. They can’t take us out, we’re all around them. They can’t divide and conquer, we’re concrete. A city-born’s knowledge of the alleys, the shadows, the tunnels...a desert-born’s technology, their creativity, the two combined…” Beyoncé shrugged.  
“We’d be unstoppable. I’m not saying it’d be easy. It won’t be. There’ll be more fighting involving city versus desert than rebels versus Better Living, at first. Sand and Sun don’t mesh well with Smog, Shadows, and Deceit. But, if we can figure out how to get people to join an alliance, than we could actually stand a chance against Better Living for real. We could end them.” Pete stood up, looking around the table at his friends and mentors.  
“Are you with me?”  
Andy, just like he had nearly ten years ago, sighed as deeply as he could, and nodded. “You’re a fucking idiot, but I’m with you. Even if your plans are stupid and crazy and impossible.”  
Pete grinned and they high fived.  
“I’m not exactly much help,” Patrick shrugged, “But I’m with you, Pete.”  
“Us, too.” Travie sighed, raising both his arms, Bill and Gabe mulishly letting him lift their own in his hands.  
“You haven’t steered me wrong yet,” Big Sean sighed, rubbing his face, “I’m with you.”  
Snoop shrugged, a dangerous look in his smile, “When have I ever turned down a chance to kick BL ass?”  
Shakira sighed, but nodded her head.  
His eyes fell on Beyoncé.  
She looked at him, face neutral.  
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told you last night, Pete,” She finally said, which wasn’t good, because she’d called him a naive asshole last night, “You’re a naive asshole.”  
He winced, and she cracked a smile, “But I’m with you.”    
Pete, feeling vindicated, set down.  
“Keep it in the trusted circles, I don’t want this out to the faction, yet. I need to talk to Dr. D, get his support and, once we have that, we can decide on how we want to keep this. We can’t have it leaked to Better Living, not yet, at least. Not until we have at least a few other factions and crews on our side.”  
“How do we get Dr. D to agree, though?” Patrick frowned, “We don’t have any desert contacts, except for Bill and Sunshine’s doctor friends. And, sorry, Bill, but neither of those are particularly weighted in the desert community, as far as I can tell. We might be able to ask Reggie, but most of the crews you introduce to the desert are trying to escape it, not keep contact.”  
Pete, feeling giddy, turned to him.  
“Did I ever tell you about the time Yeezus took me on the caravan, Pattycakes?”  
“No,” Patrick sighed, far too used to Pete veering off into story time to challenge him anymore, “Please, go on.”  
“Well, while I was there, I made great friends with a kid around my age. His name was Kobra Kid. You might have heard of him.”  
He turned to the table, taking in their confused faces, Andy’s sigh of utter defeat and Beyoncé’s amused smile, “Better known as a founding member of the Fabulous Fucking Killjoys.”  
Bill and Gabe’s face, at least, were suitably impressed.  
-  
“Let me get this straight,” Patrick stared at him, “For nearly ten years, you’ve been on first-name basis with one of the most influential desert born in our time?”  
“We haven’t talked in about that time,” Pete reminded him, “But he’s the one who inspired me to turn the Young Bloods into a place that fosters inter-wall relations. To tell the truth, I've been thinking about this since I met him when I was, fuck, what? Fifteen, sixteen? Around then, anyway. He was all fucking over working together. I just have to hope he still is."  
"How are you gonna contact him, if you haven't spoken in a decade?" Patrick frowned, "Are you going to track him down?"  
"The Killjoys work close with Dr. D. He's due to be on my frequency in about a week. I'll radio him, ask him his opinion, then get a message to Kobra."  
"What do we do if Dr. D disagrees?"  
"We track Kobra down ourselves." Pete smiled. "Don't worry, Pattycakes. My plans always work out, even if not exactly the way I originally had them planned."  
"Yeah," Patrick sighed, shaking his head, "That's what I'm worried about."  
-  
Pete should have kept his mouth shut about his plans working themselves out.  
-  
Gabe slammed the door open with force Pete hadn't seen in too long, but recognized immediately. The was the kind of force used when one of his friends had to tell him something important, and fast, because it was going to fuck everything he had going for him up.  
"Pete," Gabe panted, "It's Elise."  
Elise, a girl Gabe had had a short lived relationship with between the beginning of Pete’s first year as leader and the end of it. A spy before she’d met Gabe, she’d been sent on a mission not unlike Patrick’s father’s. With his pride and loyalty with Pete, Gabe and Elise had ended things before they’d been hurt, or worse. Even years later, under Gabe’s command now and working in the desert headquarters, she was a sore subject and rarely brought up. Not even his newly kindled relationship with Bill had quite soothed the burn that had been their lost love, even if Gabe wasn’t _in love_ with her, as he once had been.  
“What happened?” Pete froze, book in hand and half way up the bookshelf to be put away. A hundred different thoughts ran through his head: Elise had died, Elise had been discovered, Elise had been brainwashed, Elise had turned against them, Elise had been revealed to save someone else, Elise had saved herself by revealing someone, and on and on, until Gabe finally got out what he’d meant to.  
“It’s the Killjoys,”  
The book fell out of Pete’s limp hand.  
“They had this girl with them, a fuckin’ kid, I dunno why she wasn’t first on the fucking ships when they started up but she’s been with them for a while, at least since the Leathermouth Event,”  
“Skip the expo, Gabe!” Pete hurried, glaring.  
“She’s been kidnapped,” Gabe finally jumped in, like he was getting into a cold pool and had decided to do it all at once, “She’s been taken to the desert HQ, and they’re getting ready for the Killjoys to come after her. Korse thinks it’s their last stand.”  
“They’re going to take them out,” Pete realized, “Fuck!”  
“Fuck!” Gabe agreed, kicking the door, “What do we do if Better Living takes out the fucking figureheads of the desert rebellion!?”  
“They _aren’t_ going to die,” Pete snapped, Mikey’s face lit by the fire suddenly in his head like an old film reel. “How fast can you infiltrate?”  
“Infiltrate - You want me to _go in_?” Gabe demanded, “Pete, that’s suicide!”  
“Gabe, we need these fucking guys. They _cannot_ die. I _want them alive._ ”  
“Fuck!” Gabe kicked the door again and pressed his face to the metal for a moment, “Give me a minute!”  
Pete set down, trying not to tap his foot expectantly. If the Killjoys bit it, that would end his plans, once and for all. It could be generations before a crew kicked up enough support and connections throughout the desert like them, let alone what they did for morale. They had a very fucking small window, a window consisting of not too much longer if Benzedrine’s teasing was to be believed, and they didn’t have _time_ to wait that long. Pete’s whole plan for an alliance between the city factions and the desert crews rode on the Killjoys’ backs and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to convince them to join him, yet!  
“Okay,” Gabe finally breathed out, calming himself, “Okay, you fucking ass. They aren’t expecting the Killjoys for another two days. Apparently they fucked them up when they took her, but they left them alive. Probably so they can kill them in the factory and turn them into Dracs or Korse’s pet dust angels. Either way, if we were reckless, I could sneak my whole team in, along with maybe Travie’s. If you can cause a big enough distraction, we might be able to sneak some bodies off.”  
“I need them alive, Gabe, bodies won’t do shit for us,”  
“Better Living uses standard issue Demon Sharks,” Gabe thought out loud, “Dracs, Scarecrows, all of them use the standard issue. Demon Sharks,” Gabe frowned, going quiet, “Demon Shark ammo runs through chips. We use physical shots, concentrated energy, but it’s more time efficient to mass produce chips with re-loadable charges on them instead of having to reload like most Deluxe...I have to go talk to Disashi. I’ll save your fucking Killjoys, man.”  
“I know,” Pete nodded, “You’re a fucking Saporta,”  
“You know,” Gabe cracked a smile, stressed and a little pissed, “One day that won’t be enough.”  
“Bullshit,” Pete scoffed, “Get out of my office and go save my Killjoys.”  
“Yes, boss,” Gabe shook his head and hurried out, not running as hard as he had been, but not fucking walking either.  
Pete pulled his communicator out of his pocket and pulled up Big Sean’s number. If Gabe needed a distraction, he’d be getting a distraction.  
Two days later, with nine of his best people and a hurriedly cobbled-together machine Bill had spent nearly forty eight hours straight working on hiding in plain sight inside Better Living’s desert HQ, Pete had a distraction.  
“Are you sure the machine’ll work, Bill?” He worried, “How is something like that supposed to stop them from killing the Killjoys?"  
“Pete,” Bill sighed, fiddling with his emergency zap, “Listen, for the fifth time. Demon Shark standard issue, the kind BL uses, are chip-oriented. That means that they’re more time-efficient because you can load a bigger number of shots onto a chip in them instead of having to load, and reload, over and over after every few shots like the Deluxe and knockoffs we use, got it?”  
“Yes,” Pete nodded, checking his communicator for Patrick’s every-hour-on-the-hour check in from base, where he and Beyoncé had been left in charge of protecting home base while most of the council was gone, either with Pete or with Gabe and Travie.  
“The chips are also loadable from a distance, which is great if a Drac is a few miles from base and needs a few shots. The price of efficiency is that the chips run on a particular radio wave. My machine found that wave and altered the data - the energy - being sent.”  
“So they won’t shoot?”  
“Oh, they’ll shoot.” Bill shrugged, “But they’re going to shoot on stun instead of kill - even if the zap, itself, is set on kill. You said it yourself, we can’t stop them from going in and we aren't ready to take on Better Living on their own turf, so we have to use some good, old-fashioned deceit."  
Andy patted his shoulder.  
"It'll work. Vicky already reported in, the zaps have been taken care of. Now, we just have to wait for - there they are." He nodded at his communicator, a video feed showing a painted up Trans Am driving through what could only be the exit off the Getaway Mile that led to the Better Living desert HQ. Alarms began to blare, loud and shattering, and Pete set his mental timer and hoped everything went to plan, this time.  
Pete glanced around their hiding spot, miles outside the walls but still underground and less than a mile outside the HQ, and it was as empty as it had been - as it would be, until they were joined by their friends. Travie had planted the bombs himself and Pete had come up with a set up that would allow for at least ten minutes of confused smoke and mirrors before anyone figured out what was going on. Pete didn’t want to think that nothing could go wrong, because that’s how one fucked themselves over, but he was hopeful that very little would go wrong. With all of his people involved, even one fuck up could set them back quite a ways and he had too much at stake for that to happen.  
Andy switched video feeds and the lobby of a building came into view. Grainy and a little staticy, it still let Pete see what he needed to see - namely, the Fabulous Killjoys barging in with little planning and no regard for their lives. Suddenly, zaps were firing and Pete couldn’t help but watch each one of them and hope that Bill’s machine really had worked. After working with him for so long, it wasn’t that Pete doubted Bill’s abilities. It leaned more towards Pete doubting his own luck.  
It almost seemed to be going well for them, almost, until Party Poison - older than Pete remembered, but with the same floozy red hair - grabbed a Drac mask. Pete saw the mistake and _knew_ that it was over for them the moment Poison dragged the mask off of the Drac. It was obvious that Poison knew the body, just by the way his jaw went slack, the way his eyes went wide and confused.  
He started shooting again, but it was less frenzied, with so much less intent. Poison, in the moment he needed it most, had obviously forgotten the number one rule of fighting Better Living scum: An unmasked Drac is a lot more dangerous than a masked one.  
Korse, who had joined the fray while Pete had been distracted with mentally screaming at Party Poison to stop being such a fuckng idiot, pinned Poison to the wall and lifted his zap, pressing the business end of his gun into Poison’s throat.  
“Bill,” Pete said, mouth dry, “Tell me your machine worked on Korse’s gun. That isn’t standard issue.”  
“I don’t know,” Bill admitted. He didn’t try to reassure Pete that it was likely. Pete, fingers numb, fumbled his communicator out.  
“Andy, tell Snoop to empty the pod and prep it for emergency head injury.”  
“Pete, if he shoots him in the - fuck!”  
Poison went down, his body crumpling with no grace, and that was the end. Pete saw Kobra go crazy, leave his relatively safe position across the room to try to reach his brother’s side, and get shot from all sides. During the confusion, Jet Star and the one Pete hadn’t met, the one who had been on Dr. D’s shows - Fun Ghoul - grabbed The Girl and rushed the door, getting it open and forcing her out. Jet Star went with her before Fun Ghoul forced the door closed again and turned around. He used his body to block the Dracs from going after Jet Star and The Girl, but didn’t last long under the heavy fire of both Pete’s men and the real Dracs. The camera switched to the outside of the building, where Jet Star had gone down on top of their iconic Trans Am and The Girl was being forced into a brightly colored van obviously owned by Dr. D. The van got away unmolested, because Better Living had gotten what they wanted.  
Pete made himself let go of the hem of his shirt. “Fuck.”  
“They’ll be okay.” Bill promised him. “At least…”  
At least, three of them would be. There was no telling if Poison would make it until they got him back to their own base. Even with the zap on stun, a long shot in itself, a shot at that range was fucking dangerous.  
Pete wanted to press the button, bomb the shit out of the whole building, but he had to wait. Jet Star was outside and he needed to be brought in, their bodies needed to be placed into bags, and then onto stretchers. Until they were easier to transport, Pete had to wait.  
It was forever before Korse had stopped laughing over Poison’s corpse and actually got it into a body bag. Pete felt his fingers twitch.  
Andy, in the end, caught Gabe’s ‘go’ sign - a subtle flash of tanned skin between gloves and sleeves - and nodded.  
“Ready?” Pete asked, glancing at Bill. Bill nodded, and Pete pressed the button.  
There was a few seconds where nothing happened, much to Pete’s expected but unavoidable panic, and then the world on screen shook. Pete felt the vibrations of the explosion under his feet, but didn’t panic. The tunnels were stable, safe and strong under pressure, and he wasn’t worried about them going down any time soon.  
Pete switched Andy’s camera screen to a feed on the other side of the building and waited for his second cue - namely, a number of Dracs crawling out of the wreckage that had once been a small, but busy, building. It had taken most of their explosions and gun power, but it would be worth the expenses if they could save the Killjoys. He waited until at least fifteen of them were on the screen, like ants in a stepped on ant hill, and then Pete picked up his stick controller, pressed another button and a rain of fire exploded from the zaps Pete had set up across the way. Wired atop a building, the Young Bloods would lose a few of Disashi’s beloved zaps, but Pete was going to put them to good use.  
Eleven of the Dracs went down, and the other four took cover. There was no audio, but Pete could just imagine their yelling, the screaming of orders and demands to locate a commanding officer and find out where the shots were coming from. Pete pressed his button again and a new volley of shots came, taking out a few other Dracs that had gotten too close. Carefully, he used the stick of his controller to move the angle of the shots and then pressed the code that would randomize movements and let it be.  
“That should distract them for a while,” Pete muttered, switching back to the other feed.  
Korse, yelling at two Dracs, left the room quickly in the direction of the explosion. With him out of sight, Pete nodded.  
“Andy, give Gabe the signal.”  
Andy, taking his communicator back, tapped something and, only moments later, half the Dracs in the room yanked their masks off and took out the half that didn’t.  
Four body bags on gurneys and six re-masked Dracs left the room through the shattered doors, calmly moving the bodies from the building, down the sidewalk and into a running white van with a smiling black face on its side. Two other Dracs came from around the building holding a white square of fabric and, after a moment of silent video where Pete assumed they spoke, the two tossed the fabric over the dented body of the Trans Am and piled into it. They backed it up to the van, got out to attach the towing hitch on the back of the van to the Trans Am’s tail end, and then climbed in along with Gabe and the team. Nine in, nine out - plus four extra.  
In the confusion of apparent enemy fire and a bombing, a faceless white van carrying Pete’s men and the Killjoys quietly slipped out of the base with no trouble at all - towing a covered car behind them.  
When the van had passed the Getaway Mile feed and Travie had reported in to Pete’s communicator that they were on their way, Pete let himself relax.  
“I’ll get the T-Squared running,” Bill sighed in relief, turning away from the two of them. The T-Squared, Bill’s newest invention, was debuting today - a motorized cart that was going to haul the lot of them around so they didn’t have to walk miles and miles of tunnel with four injured body bags between them. It had worked well enough carrying Andy and Pete, but Bill was the only one able to drive it at the moment, so he’d been forced to tag along.  
“You’re doing great, Bill.” Pete mentioned, giving him a comforting shoulder squeeze. For a pacifist, Bill was taking a mission surprisingly well. Just more proof that Pete had picked well.  
Or, at least, Andy had.  
“Thanks,” Bill smiled at him shakily, “You guys do this stress thing often?”  
“Nothing this bad,” Pete lied, smiling, “Gabe’s fine, man. Everyone’s good.”  
“Shut up,” Andy frowned, “You’re going to jinx everything, Pete, oh my God.”  
“Sorry,” Pete grinned, “When they get the van here, you and Matt take the van and car to Chilli and then meet up back at base, okay?”  
“Got it,” Andy nodded, “Greta’s ready for them when you make it back. She’s cleared out the pod for Poison.”  
“He’s gonna need it,” Pete sighed, shaking his head. Why was life so difficult, sometimes? How was he going to explain to the Killjoys that he’d managed to keep all of them alive, but he’d accidentally let their leader die because he was a stupid fuck?  
Maybe he’d leave out the ‘stupid fuck’ part.  
Minutes later, there was a knock above them and Andy climbed the ladder and lifted the opening for their friends. He and Pete created a system where whoever was above passed down a body bag, feet first, and Andy carefully handed it off to Pete and Bill to be placed in the T-Squared. Presumably, Fun Ghoul was the least heavy but - after the last few days he had had - they were all at least a ton, in Pete’s opinion. Luckily, only four bodies meant it was fast work and, soon, he was being joined by Gabe, Travie, and their teams. They couldn’t have stripped off their costumes faster.  
“Matt, with me,” Andy tapped his shoulder, “We’re on car duty. See you guys.”  
“See you,” Gabe rubbed his tired eyes, “Later. It’s sleeping time, now.”  
“True facts,” Travie agreed, yawning, “Let’s get the fuck outta’ here.”  
Andy and Matt disappeared up the ladder and shut the opening after them, and Pete settled onto the T-Squared with Travie and Gabe to either side of him. In the middle of the card laid their prize.  
“You did it, guys,” Pete laughed, “You saved the Fabulous Killjoys.”  
“No thanks to them,” Travie frowned, “What fucking morons.”  
Pete couldn’t help but agree. Gabe, making bedroom eyes at Bill, had nothing to add.  
-  
Luckily for everyone involved, Korse’s zap _had_ been standard issue, on the inside, and ran on a chip. Still, a stun shot directly to the face wasn’t exactly the safest of places to be stunned, but it was minimal damage compared to what _could_ have gone wrong. A few nights in the healing pod, and Snoop was sure that Poison would recover.  
In the meantime, he’d placed the other three on a soft drug to keep them under for a while, while their bodies healed. They wouldn’t have a few hundred nanobots inside of them, fixing them all up, like Poison would, and it would be better if they just stayed out while they recovered.  
“So, you did it.” Patrick smiled, surrounded by red blankets and darkness, “How’s it feel?”  
“Like hard work.” Pete admitted, “I haven’t even talked to them yet.”  
“Don’t worry about that,” Patrick scoffed, “If they know what’s good for them, and the people they care about, they’ll help us. For now, just be fucking happy, okay? You did it. The Killjoys are alive. Whether they help or not, in the end, you at least know that they owe you their lives.”  
Pete finally smiled back at Patrick, feeling marginally better.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yes.” Patrick rolled his eyes, but he kissed Pete and Pete sighed into it.  
In a week, he’d have to worry about the Killjoys, for real. He’d have to worry about beginning his plans, about trying to convince a bunch of people who kind of hated each other that it was in everyone’s best interest to work together. In a week, he’d have more to worry about than he could even imagine.  
But, that was a week from now. And _now_ , he had Patrick in his bed and his friends at home and safe.  
For now, at least, Pete had won.

**Author's Note:**

> CONGRATULATIONS IF YOU'VE MANAGED TO STICK WITH ME THIS WHOLE TIME??? 
> 
> I'm not even going to pretend, i've just started college and i don't have as much time as usual to work on these, but i really wanted to get this one out since it's the last of the prequels (MEANING THE NEXT FIC IS THE ONE I'D ORIGINALLY PLANNED TO WRITE IN THE FIRST PLACE :D). That one won't be out for a few months, but I swear to you no matter how long it takes, i will not abandon this fic!
> 
> NEXT: This Ain't Over, We Own The Night  
> STATUS: Posted


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